m*     ~4»''«»~ 


-  TRUE  - 
TO  •  HIS  •  H 

^^H          BY  ^^H 

EZEKIAH-BUTTERWORTH 


cj^l 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 

Commodore  Byron  McCandless 


TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME 

A   TALE   OF  THE   BOYHOOD   OF   FRANKLIN 


Books  by  Hezekiah  Butterworth. 

Each,  i2mo,  cloth,  $1.50. 

The  Log  School-House  on  the  Columbia. 

With  13  full-page  Illustrations  by  J.  CARTER  BEARD, 
E.  J.  AUSTEN,  and  Others. 

"  This  book  will  charm  all  who  turn  its  pages.  There  are  few 
books  of  popular  information  concerning  the  pioneers  of  the  treat 
Northwest,  and  this  one  is  worthy  of  sincere  praise." — Seattle  Post- 
Intelligencer. 

In  the  Boyhood  of  Lincoln. 

A  Story  of  the  Black  Hawk  War  and  the  Tanker 
Schoolmaster,  With  12  full-page  Illustrations  and 
colored  Frontispiece. 

"  The  author  presents  facts  in  a  most  attractive  framework  of  fic- 
tion, and  imbues  the  whole  wifli  his  peculiar  humor.  The  illustrations 
are  numerous  and  of  more  than  usual  excellence." — New  Haven 
Palladium. 

The  Boys  of  Green  way  Court. 

A  Story  of  the  Early  Years  of  Washington.     With  10 
full-page  Illustrations  by  H.  WINTHROP  PEIRCE. 
"  Ski'Iftilly   combining    fact  and    fiction,  he   has  given  us  a  story 

historically  instructive  and  at  the  same  time  entertaining." — Boston 

Transcript. 

The  Patriot   Schoolmaster; 

Or,  The  Adventures  of  the  Two  Boston  Cannon^  the 
"Adams"  and  the  "Hancock."  A  Tale  of  the  Minute 
Men  and  the  Sons  of  Liberty.  With  Illustrations  by 
H.  WINTHROP  PEIRCE. 

The  true  spirit  of  the  leaders  in  our  War  for  Independence  is  pic- 
tured in  this  dramatic  story.  It  includes  the  Boston  Tea  Party  and 
Bunker  Hill;  and  Adams,  Hancock,  Revere,  and  the  boys  who 
bearded  General  Gage,  are  living  characters  in  this  romance  of 
American  patriotism. 

The  Knight  of  Liberty. 

A  Tale  of  the  Fortunes  of  Lafayette,  With  6  full-page 
Illustrations. 

"  No  better  reading  for  the  young  man  can  be  imagined  than  this 
fascinating  narrative  of  a  noble  figure  on  the  canvas  of  time."— Boston 
Traveller. 

New  York:  D.  APPLETON  &  Co.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


LITTLE  BEN'S  ADVENTURE  AS  A  POET. 


(See  page  113.) 


TRUE   TO   HIS   HOME 


a  Uale  of  tbe  3Bosbooo  of  ffranfeltn 


BY 


HEZEKIAH   BUTTERWORTH 

AUTHOR    OF 
THE    WAMPUM    BELT,    IN    THE    BOYHOOD    OF    LINCOLN,    ETC. 


The  noblest  question  in  the  world  is,  What  good  may  I  do  in  it? 

POOR  RICHARD 


ILLUSTRATED  BY  H.    WINTHROP  PEIRCE 


NEW     YORK 

D.      APPLETON     AND     COMPANY 
1897 


COPYRIGHT,  1897, 
By  D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY. 


e 
30  a. 


PKEFACE. 


THIS  volume  is  an  historical  fiction,  but  the  plan  of  it  was 
suggested  by  biography,  and  is  made  to  include  the  most  in- 
teresting and  picturesque  episodes  in  the  home  side  of  the  life 
of  Benjamin  Franklin,  so  as  to  form  a  connected  narrative  or 
picture  of  his  public  life. 

I  have  written  no  book  with  a  deeper  sympathy  with  my 
subject,  for,  although  fiction,  the  story  very  truthfully  shows 
that  the  good  intentions  of  a  life  which  has  seemed  to  fail  do 
not  die,  but  live  in  others  whom  they  inspire.  Uncle  Benja- 
min Franklin,  "  the  poet,"  who  was  something  of  a  philoso- 
pher, and  whose  visions  all  seemed  to  end  in  disappointment, 
deeply  influenced  his  nephew  and  godson,  Benjamin  Frank- 
lin, whom  he  morally  educated  to  become  what  he  himself  had 
failed  to  be. 

The  conduct  of  Josiah  Franklin,  the  father  of  Benjamin 
Franklin,  in  comforting  his  poor  old  brother  in  England  by 
naming  his  fifteenth  child  for  him,  and  making  him  his  god- 
father, is  a  touching  instance  of  family  affection,  to  the  mem- 
ory of  which  the  statesman  was  always  true. 

Uncle  Benjamin  Franklin  had  a  library  of  pamphlets  that 
was  very  dear  to  him,  for  in  the  margins  of  the  leaves  he  had 
placed  the  choicest  thoughts  of  his  life  amid  great  political 


957398 


vi  PREFACE. 

events.  He  was  very  poor,  and  he  sold  his  library  in  his  old 
age;  we  may  reasonably  suppose  that  he  parted  with  it  among 
other  effects  to  get  money  tq  come  to  America,  that  he  might 
give  his  influence  to  "  Little  Ben,"  after  his  brother  had  re- 
membered him  in  his  desolation  by  giving  his  name  to  the 
boy.  The  finding  of  these  pamphlets  in  London  fifty  years 
after  the  old  man  was  compelled  to  sell  them  was  regarded 
by  Benjamin  Franklin  as  one  of  the  most  singular  events  of 
his  remarkable  life. 

Mr.  Parton,  in  his  Life  of  Franklin,  thus  alludes  to  the 
circumstance: 

A  strange  occurrence  brought  to  the  mind  of  Franklin,  in 
1771,  a  vivid  recollection  of  his  childhood.  A  dealer  in  old 
books,  whose  shop  he  sometimes  visited,  called  his  attention 
one  day  to  a  collection  of  pamphlets,  bound  in  thirty  volumes, 
dating  from  the  Eestoration  to  1715.  The  dealer  offered  them 
to  Franklin,  as  he  said,  because  many  of  the  subjects  of  the 
pamphlets  were  such  as  usually  interested  him.  Upon  ex- 
amining the  collection,  he  found  that  one  of  the  blank  leaves 
of  each  volume  contained  a  catalogue  of  its  contents,  and  the 
price  each  pamphlet  had  cost;  there  were  notes  and  comments 
also  in  the  margin  of  several  of  the  pieces.  A  closer  scrutiny 
revealed  that  the  handwriting  was  that  of  his  Uncle  Benjamin, 
the  rhyming  friend  and  counselor  of  his  childhood.  Other 
circumstances  combined  with  this  surprising  fact  to  prove  that 
the  collection  had  been  made  by  his  uncle,  who  had  probably 
sold  it  when  he  emigrated  to  America,  fifty-six  years  before. 
Franklin  bought  the  volumes,  and  gave  an  account  of  the  cir- 
cumstance to  his  Uncle  Benjamin's  son,  who  still  lived  and 
flourished  in  Boston.  "  The  oddity  is,"  he  wrote,  "  that  the 
bookseller,  who  could  suspect  nothing  of  any  relation  between 


PREFACE.  vii 

me  and  the  collector,  should  happen  to  make  me  the  offer  of 
them." 

It  may  please  the  reader  to  know  that  "  Mr.  Calamity " 
was  suggested  by  a  real  character,  and  that  the  incidents  in 
the  life  of  "  Jenny,"  Franklin's  favorite  sister,  are  true  in 
spirit  and  largely  in  detail.  It  would  have  been  more  artistic 
to  have  had  Franklin  discover  Uncle  Benjamin's  "  pamphlets  " 
later  in  life,  but  this  would  have  been,  while  allowable,  un- 
historic  fiction. 

Says  one  of  the  greatest  critics  ever  born  in  America,  in 
speaking  of  the  humble  birth  of  Franklin: 

That  little  baby,  humbly  cradled,  has  turned  out  to  be  the 
greatest  man  that  America  ever  bore  in  her  bosom  or  set  eyes 
upon.  Beyond  ail  question,  as  I  think,  Benjamin  Franklin 
had  the  largest  mind  that  has  shone  on  this  side  of  the  se*a, 
widest  in  its  comprehension,  most  deep-looking,  thoughtful, 
far-seeing,  the  most  original  and  creative  child  of  the  New 
World. 

For  the  last  four  generations  no  man  has  shed  such  copious 
good  influence  on  America,  nor  added  so  much  new  truth  to 
popular  knowledge;  none  has  so  skillfully  organized  its  ideals 
into  institutions;  none  has  so  powerfully  and  wisely  directed 
the  nation's  conduct  and  advanced  its  welfare  in  so  many  re- 
spects. No  man  has  so  strong  a  hold  on  the  habits  or  the 
manners  of  the  people. 

t 

"  The  principal  question  in  life  is,  What  good  can  I  do 
in  the  world?"  says  Franklin.  He  learned  to  ask  this  ques- 
tion in  his  home  in  "  beloved  Boston."  It  was  his  purpose  to 
answer  this  all-important  question  after  the  lessons  that  he 


viii  PREFACE. 

had  received  in  his  early  home,  to  which  his  heart  remained 
true  through  all  his  marvelous  career. 

This  is  the  seventh  volume  of  the  Creators  of  Liberty 
Series  of  books  of  historical  fiction,  based  for  the  most  part  on 
real  events,  in  the  purpose  of  presenting  biography  in  picture. 

The  former  volumes  of  this  series  of  books  have  been  very 
kindly  received  by  the  public,  and  none  of  them  more  gen- 
erously than  the  last  volume,  The  Wampum  Belt.  For  this 
the  writer  is  very  grateful,  for  he  is  a  thorough  believer  in 
story-telling  education,  on  the  Pestalozzi  and  Froebel  principle 
that  "  life  must  be  taught  from  life,"  or  from  the  highest  ideals 
of  beneficent  character.  H.  B. 

28  WORCESTER  STREET,  BOSTON,  MASS.,  June,  1897. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.— THE  FIRST  DAY 1 

II. — UNCLE  BENJAMIN,  THE  POET •  .       .10 

III. — BENJAMIN  AND  BENJAMIN 18 

IV. — FRANKLIN'S  STORY  OF  A  HOLIDAY  IN  CHILDHOOD   .       .       .24 

V. — THE  BOY  FRANKLIN'S  KITE 28 

VI. — LITTLE  BEN'S  GUINEA  PIG 34 

VII.— UNCLE  TOM,  WHO  ROSE  IN  THE  WORLD 39 

VIII. — LITTLE  BEN  SHOWS  HIS  HANDWRITING  TO  THE  FAMILY  .        .    46 
IX. — UNCLE  BENJAMIN'S  SECRET 50 

X. — THE    STONE    WHARF,    AND    LADY   WlGGLEWORTH,    WHO    FELL 

ASLEEP  IN   CHURCH .      56 

XI — JENNY 70 

XII. — A   CHIME  OF  BELLS   IN   NOTTINGHAM 74 

XIII. — THE  ELDER  FRANKLIN'S  STORIES 78 

XIV. — THE  TREASURE-FINDER 83 

XV.— "HAVE  I  A  CHANCE!" 92 

XVI. — "  A   BOOK  THAT  INFLUENCED  THE  CHARACTER  OF  A   MAN  WHO 

LED  HIS  AGE " 99 

XVII. — BENJAMIN  LOOKS  FOR  A  PLACE  WHEREIN  TO  START  IN  LIFE  .  102 

XVIII. — LITTLE  BEN'S  ADVENTURE  AS  A  POET Ill 

XIX.— LEAVES  BOSTON 132 

XX. — LAUGHED  AT  AGAIN 138 

XXI. — LONDON  AND  A  LONG  SWIM 148 

XXII. — A   PENNY  ROLL  WITH   HONOR. — JENNY'S  SPINNING-WHEEL          .   160 

fz 


x  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXIII.— MR.  CALAMITY     .        .        .        .     ' 168 

XXIV. — FRANKLIN'S  STRUGGLES  WITH  FRANKLIN  ....  174 
XXV. — THE  MAGICAL  BOTTLE 179 

XXVI. — THE   ELECTRIFIELD   VIAL   AND   THE   QUESTIONS   IT   RAISED  .    186 
XXVII. — THE   GREAT   DISCOVERY 192' 

XXVIII. — HOME-COMING  IN  DISGUISE 200 

XXIX. — "THOSE  PAMPHLETS" 209 

XXX. — A   STRANGE   DISCOVERY 213 

XXXI. — OLD  HUMPHREY'S  STRANGE  STORY 220 

XXXII. — THE     EAGLE    THAT    CAUGHT    THE     CAT. — DR.     FRANKLIN'S 

ENGLISH  FABLE. — THE  DOCTOR'S  SQUIRRELS         .        .  225 

XXXIII.— OLD  MR.  CALAMITY  AGAIN 230 

XXXIV. — OLD   MR.  CALAMITY   AND  THE   TEARING  DOWN   OF   THE 

KING'S  ARMS 242 

XXXV.— JENNY  AGAIN 250 

XXXVI. — THE  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE. — A  MYSTERY  .        .  257 
XXXVII. — ANOTHER   SIGNATURE. — THE  STORY   OF   AUVERGNE  SANS 

TACHE 267 

XXXVIII. — FRANKLIN   SIGNS  THE  TREATY  OF  PEACE. — How  GEORGE 

III  RECEIVES   THE   NEWS 281 

XXXIX. — THE  TALE  OF  AN  OLD  VELVET  COAT 287 

XL.^lN   SERVICE   AGAIN 293 

XLI. — JANE'S  LAST  VISIT 299 

XLII. — FOR   THE   LAST   TIME 307 

XLIII. — A   LESSON   AFTER   SCHOOL 311 

APPENDIX. — FRANKLIN'S  FAMOUS  PROVERB  STORY  OF  THE  OLD  AUC- 
TIONEER .  .        .  314 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


FACING 
PAGE 


Little  Ben's  adventure  as  a  poet        ....       Frontispiece 

Uncle  Benjamin's  secret 52 

"Are  you  going  to  swim  back  to  London!" 156 

A  strange  discovery 215 

The  destruction  of  the  royal  arms 247 

Franklin's  last  days 295 


TRUE   TO  HIS  HOME. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE   FIRST   DAY. 

IT  was  the  Sunday  morning  of  the  6th  of  January,  1706 
(January  17th,  old  style),  when  a  baby  first  saw  the  light  in 
a  poor  tallow  chandler's  house  on  Milk  Street,  nearly  oppo- 
site the  Old  South  Church,  Boston.  The  little  stranger  came 
into  a  large  and  growing  family,  of  whom  at  a  later  period  he 
might  sometimes  have  seen  thirteen  children  sit  down  at  the 
table  to  very  hard  and  simple  fare. 

"  A  baby  is  nothing  new  in  this  family,"  said  Josiah  Frank- 
lin, the  father.  "  This  is  the  fifteenth.  Let  me  take  it  over 
to  the  church  and  have  it  christened  this  very  day.  There 
should  be  no  time  lost  in  christening.  What  say  you,  friends 
all?  It  is  a  likely  boy,  and  it  is  best  to  start  him  right  in  life 
at  once." 

"  People  do  not  often  have  their  children  christened  in 
church  on  the  day  of  birth,"  said  a  lusty  neighbor,  "though 
if  a  child  seems  likely  to  die  it  might  be  christened  on  the  day 
of  its  birth  at  home." 

"This  child  does  not  seem  likely  to  die,"  said  the  happy 
tallow  chandler.  "  I  will  go  and  see  the  parson,  and  if  he  does 
not  object  I  will  give  the  child  to  the  Lord  on  this  January 


2  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

day,  and  if  he  should  come  to  anything  he  will  have  occasion 
to  remember  that  I  thought  of  the  highest  duty  that  I  owed 
him  when  he  first  opened  his  eyes  to  the  light." 

The  smiling  and  enthusiastic  tallow  chandler  went  to  see 
the  parson,  and  then  returned  to  his  home. 

"  Abiah,"  he  said  to  his  wife,  "  I  am  going  to  have  the 
child  christened.  What  shall  his  name  be?" 

Josiah  Franklin,  the  chandler,  who  had  emigrated  to  Bos- 
ton town  that  he  might  enjoy  religious  freedom,  had  left  a 
brother  in  England,  who  was  an  honest,  kindly,  large-hearted 
man,  and  "  a  poet." 

"How  would  Benjamin  do?"  he  continued;  "brother's 
name.  Benjamin  is  a  family  name,  and  a  good  one.  Benja- 
min of  old,  into  whose  sack  Joseph  put  the  silver  cup,  was  a 
right  kind  of  a  man.  What  do  you  say,  Abiah  Folger?" 

"  Benjamin  is  a  good  name,  and  a  name  lasts  for  life.  But 
your  brother  Benjamin  has  not  succeeded  very  well  in  his  many 
undertakings." 

"  No,  but  in  all  his  losses  he  has  never  lost  his  good  name. 
His  honor  has  shown  over  all.  '  A  good  name  is  rather  to  be 
chosen  than  great  riches,  and  loving  favor  rather  than  silver 
or  gold.'  A  man  may  get  riches  and  yet  be  poor.  It  is  he 
that  seeks  the  welfare  of  others  more  than  wealth  for  him- 
self that  lives  for  the  things  that  are  best." 

"  Josiah,  this  is  no  common  boy — look  at  his  head.  We 
can  not  do  for  him  as  our  neighbors  do  for  their  children. 
But  we  can  give  him  a  name  to  honor,  and  that  will  be  an 
example  to  him.  How  would  Folger  do — Folger  Franklin? 
Father  Folger  was  a  poet  like  your  brother  Benjamin,  and  he 


THE  FIRST  DAY.  3 

did  well  in  life.  That  would  unite  the  names  of  the  two 
families." 

John  Folger,  of  Norwich,  England,  with  his  son  Peter, 
came  to  this  country  in  the  year  1635  on  the  same  ship 
that  bore  the  family  of  Rev.  Hugh  Peters.  This  clergyman, 
who  is  known  as  a  "  regicide,"  or  king  murderer,  and  who 
suffered  a  most  terrible  death  in  London  on  the  accession  of 
Charles  II,  succeeded  Roger  "Williams  in  the  church  at  Salem. 
He  flourished  during  the  times  of  Cromwell,  but  was  sen- 
tenced to  be  hanged,  cut  down  alive,  and  tortured,  his  body 
to  be  quartered,  and  his  head  exposed  among  the  male- 
factors, on  account  of  having  consented  to  the  execution  of 
Charles  I. 

Among  Hugh  Peters's  household  was  one  Mary  Morrell, 
a  white  slave,  or  purchased  serving  maid.  She  was  a  very 
bright  and  beautiful  girl. 

The  passengers  had  small  comforts  on  board  the  ship.  The 
passage  was  a  long  one,  and  the  time  passed  heavily. 

Now  the  passengers  who  were  most  interesting  to  each 
other  became  intimate,  and  young  Peter  Folger  and  beautiful 
Mary  Morrell  of  the  Peterses  became  very  interesting  to  each 
other  and  very  social.  Peter  Folger  began  to  ask  himself  the 
question,  "If  the  fair  maid  would  marry  me,  could  I  not 
purchase  her  freedom  ?  "  He  seems  somehow  to  have  found 
out  that  the  latter  could  be  done,  and  so  Peter  offered  him- 
self to  the  attractive  servant  of  the  Peterses.  The  two  were  be- 
trothed amid  the  Atlantic  winds  and  the  rolling  seas,  and  the 
roaring  ocean  could  have  little  troubled  them  then,  so  happy 
were  their  anticipations  of  their  life  in  the  New  World. 


4  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

Peter  purchased  Mary's  freedom  of  the  Peterses,  and  so  he 
bought  the  grandmother  of  that  Benjamin  Franklin  who  was  to 
"snatch  the  thunderbolts  from  heaven  and  the  scepter  from 
tyrants,"  to  sign  the  Declaration  of  Independence  which 
brought  forth  a  new  order  of  government  for  mankind,  and 
to  form  a  treaty  of  peace  with  England  which  was  to  make 
America  free. 

Peter  Folger  and  his  bride  first  settled  in  Watertown, 
Mass.,  where  the  young  immigrant  became  a  very  useful  citi- 
zen. He  studied  the  Indian  tongue. 

About  1660  the  family  removed  to  Martha's  Vineyard  with 
Thomas  Mayhew,  of  colonial  fame,  where  Peter  was  employed 
as  a  school  teacher  and  a  land  surveyor,  and  he  assisted  Mr.  May- 
hew  in  his  work  among  the  Indians.  He  went  to  Nantucket 
as  a  surveyor  about  1662,  and  was  induced  to  remove  there 
as  an  interpreter  and  as  land  surveyor.  He  was  assigned  by 
the  proprietors  a  place  known  as  Roger's  Field,  and  later 
as  Jethro  Folger's  Lane,  now  a  portion  of  the  Maddequet 
Eoad.  Their  tenth  child  was  Abiah,  born  August  15,  1667. 
She  was  the  second  wife  of  Josiah  Franklin,  tallow  chand- 
ler, of  the  sign  of  the  Blue  Ball,  Boston,  and  the  mother  of 
the  boy  whom  she  would  like  to  have  inherit  so  inspiring  a 
name. 

Peter  Folger,  the  Quaker  poet  of  the  island  of  Nantucket, 
was  a  most  worthy  man.  He  lived  at  the  beginning  of  the  dark 
times  of  persecution,  when  Baptists  and  Quakers  were  in  dan- 
ger of  being  publicly  whipped,  branded,  and  deported  or  ban- 
ished into  the  wilderness.  Stories  of  the  cruelty  that  followed 
these  people  filled  the  colonies,  and  caused  the  Quaker's  heart 


THE  FIRST  DAY.  5 

to  bleed  and  burn.  He  wrote  a  poem  entitled  A  Looking- 
glass  for  the  Times,  in  which  he  called  upon  New  England  to 
pause  in  her  sins  of  intoleration  and  persecution,  and  threat- 
ened the  judgments  foretold  in  the  Bible  upon  those  who  do 
injustice  to  God's  children. 

"  Abiah,"  said  the  proud  father,  "  I  admire  the  charac- 
ter of  your  father.  It  stood  for  justice  and  human  rights. 
But,  wife,  listen: 

"  Brother  Benjamin  has  lost  all  of  his  ten  children  but 
one.  I  pity  him.  Wife,  listen:  Brother  Benjamin  is  poor 
through  no  fault  of  his,  but  because  he  gave  himself  and  all 
that  he  was  to  his  family. 

"  Listen:  It  would  touch  his  heart  to  learn  that  I  had 
named  this  boy  for  him.  It  would  show  the  old  man  that  I 
had  not  forgotten  him,  but  still  thought  of  him. 

"  I  can  not  do  much  for  the  boy,  but  I  can  give  Brother 
Benjamin  a  home  with  me,  and,  as  he  is  a  great  reader,  he 
can  instruct  the  boy  by  wise  precept  and  a  good  example.  If 
the  boy  will  only  follow  brother's  principles,  he  may  make 
the  name  of  Benjamin  live. 

"  And  once  more:  if  we  name  the  boy  Benjamin,  it  will 
make  Brother  Benjamin  feel  that  he  has  not  lost  all,  but  that 
he  will  have  another  chance  in  the  world.  How  glad  that 
would  make  the  poor  old  man!  I  would  like  to  name  him  as 
the  boy's  godfather.  I  do  pity  him,  don't  you?  You  have 
the  heart  of  Peter  Folger." 

There  was  a  silence. 

"  Abiah,  what  now  shall  the  boy's  name  be?  " 

"  Benjamin." 
3 


Q  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

"  You  have  chosen  that  name  out  of  your  heart.  May  that 
name  bring  you  joy!  It  ought  to  do  so,  since  you  have  given 
up  your  own  wish  and  breathed  it  out  of  your  heart  and  con- 
science. To  give  up  is  to  gain." 

He  took  up  the  child. 

"  Then  we  will  give  that  name  to  him  now,  and  I  will  take 
the  child  and  go  to  the  churcji,  and  I  will  name  Brother  Ben- 
jamin as  his  godfather." 

"  It  is  a  very  cold  day  for  the  little  one." 

"  And  a  healthy  one  on  which  to  start  out  in  the  world. 
There  is  nothing  like  starting  right  and  with  a  good  name, 
which  may  the  Lord  help  this  child  to  honor!  And,  Abiah, 
that  He  will." 

He  wrapped  the  babe  up  warmly,  and  looked  him  full  in 
the  face. 

Josiah  Franklin  was  a  genial,  provident,  hard-sensed  man. 
He  probably  had  no  prophetic  visions;  no  thought  that  the 
little  one  given  him  on  this  frosty  January  morning  in  the 
breezy  town  of  Boston  by  the  sea  would  command  senates, 
lead  courts,  and  sign  a  declaration  of  peace  that  would  make 
possible  a  new  order  of  government  in  the  world,  could  have 
entered  his  mind.  If  the  boy  should  become  a  good  man,  with 
a  little  poetic  imagination  like  his  Uncle  Benjamin,  the  home 
poet,  he  would  be  content. 

He  opened  the  door  of  his  one  room  on  the  lower  floor 
of  his  house  and  went  out  into  the  cold  with  the  child  in  his 
arms.  In  a  short  time  he  returned  and  laid  little  Benjamin  in 
the  arms  of  his  mother. 

"I  hope  the  child's  life  will  hold  out  as  it  has  begun," 


THE  FIRST  DAY.  7 

he  added.  "  Benjamin  Franklin,  day  one;  started  right.  May 
Heaven  help  him  to  get  used  to  the  world!" 

As  poor  as  the  tallow  chandler  was,  he  was  hospitable  on 
that  day.  He  did  not  hold  the  birth  of  the  little  one — which 
really  was  an  event  of  greater  importance  to  the  world  than 
the  birth  of  a  king — as  anything  more  than  the  simple  growth 
of  an  honest  family,  who  had  left  the  crowded  towns  and  a 
smithy  in  old  England  to  enjoy  freedom  of  faith  and  con- 
science and  the  opportunities  of  the  New  World.  He  wished 
to  live  where  he  might  be  free  to  enjoy  his  own  opinions  and 
to  promote  a  colony  where  all  men  should  have  these  privi- 
leges. 

The  house  in  which  Franklin  was  born  is  described  as 
follows: 

Its  front  upon  the  street  was  rudely  clapboarded,  and  the 
sides  and  rear  were  protected  from  the  inclemencies  of  a  New 
England  climate  by  large,  rough  shingles.  In  height  the  house 
was  about  three  stories;  in  front,  the  second  story  and  attic 
projected  somewhat  into  the  street,  over  the  principal  story 
on  the  ground  floor.  On  the  lower  floor  of  the  main  house 
there  was  one  room  only.  This,  which  probably  served  the 
Franklins  as  a  parlor  and  sitting-room,  and  also  for  the  family 
eating-room,  was  about  twenty  feet  square,  and  had  two  win- 
dows on  the  street;  and  it  had  also  one  on  the  passageway,  so 
as  to  give  the  inmates  a  good  view  of  Washington  Street.  In 
the  center  of  the  southerly  side  of  the  room  was  one  of  those 
noted  large  fireplaces,  situated  in  a  most  capacious  chimney; 
on  the  left  of  this  was  a  spacious  closet.  On  the  ground  floor, 
connected  with  the  sitting-room  through  the  entry,  was  the 
kitchen.  The  second  story  originally  contained  but  one  cham- 
ber, and  in  this  the  windows,  door,  fireplace,  and  closet  were 


8  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

similar  in  number  and  position  to  those  in  the  parlor  beneath 
it.  The  attic  was  also  originally  one  unplastered  room,  and 
had  a  window  in  front  on  the  street,  and  two  common  attic 
windows,  one  on  each  side  of  the  roof,  near  the  back  part 

of  it.        » 

Soon  after  this  unprophetic  event  Josiah  Franklin  and 
Abiah  his  wife  went  to  live  at  the  sign  of  the  Blue  Ball,  on 
what  was  then  the  southeast  corner  of  Hanover  and  Union 
Streets.  The  site  of  the  birth  of  Franklin  was  long  made 
notable  as  the  office  of  the  Boston  Post,  a  political  paper  whose 
humor  was  once  proverbial.  The  site  is  still  visited  by 
strangers,  and  bears  the  record  of  the  event  which  was  to  con- 
tribute so  powerful  an  influence  to  the  scientific  and  political 
history  of  the  world. 

Wendell  Phillips  used  to  say  that  there  were  two  kinds 
of  people  in  the  world — one  who  went  ahead  and  did  some- 
thing, and  another,  who  showed  how  that  thing  ought  to  have 
been  done  in  some  other  way.  The  boy  belonged  to  the  former 
class. 

But  I  doubt  if  any  reader  of  this  volume  was  ever  born  to 
so  hard  an  estate  as  this  boy.  Let  us  follow  him  into  the  story 
land  of  childhood.  In  Germany  every  child  passes  through 
fairyland,  but  there  was  no  such  land  in  Josiah  Franklin's 
tallow  shop,  except  when  the  busy  man  sometimes  played  the 
violin  in  the  inner  room  and  sang  psalms  to  the  music,  usually 
in  a  very  solemn  tone. 

There  were  not  many  homes  in  Boston  at  this  period  that 
had  even  so  near  an  approach  to  fairyland  as  a  violin.  Those 
were  hard  times  for  children,  and  especially  for  those  with  lively 


THE  FIRST  DAY.  9 

imaginations,  which  gift  little  Benjamin  had  in  no  common 
degree.  There  were  Indians  in  those  times,  and  supposed 
ghosts  and  witches,  but  no  passing  clouds  bore  angels'  chariots; 
there  were  no  brownies  among  the  wild  rose  bushes  and  the 
ferns.  There  was  one  good  children's  story  in  every  home — 
that  of  "  Joseph  "  in  the  Bible,  still,  as  always,  the  best  family 
story  in  all  the  world. 


CHAPTER   II. 

UNCLE    BENJAMIN,    THE    POET. 

MRS.  FRANKLIN  has  said  that  she  could  hardly  remember 
the  time  in  her  son's  childhood  when  he  could  not  read.  He 
emerged  almost  from  babyhood  a  reader,  and  soon  began  to 
"  devour  " — to  use  the  word  then  applied  to  his  habit — all  the 
books  that  fell  within  his  reach. 

When  about  four  years  old  he  became  much  interested 
in  stories  told  him  by  his  father  of  his  Uncle  Benjamin,  the 
poet,  who  lived  in  England,  and  for  whom  he  had  been  named, 
and  who,  it  was  hoped,  would  come  to  the  new  country  and 
be  his  godfather. 

The  family  at  the  Blue  Ball  was  quick  to  notice  the  tend- 
encies of  their  children  in  early  life.  Little  Benjamin  Frank- 
lin developed  a  curious  liking  for  a  trumpet  and  a  gun.  He 
liked  to  march  about  to  noise,  and  this  noise  he  was  pleased 
to  make  himself — to  blow  his  own  trumpet.  The  family  wrote 
to  Uncle  Benjamin,  the  poet,  then  in  England,  in  regard  to 
this  unpromising  trait,  and  the  good  man  returned  the  follow- 
ing letter  in  reply: 

10 


UNCLE  BENJAMIN,   THE  POET.  H 

To  my  Namesake,  on  hearing  of  his  Inclination  to  Martial 
Affairs.    July  7,  1710. 

"  Believe  me,  Ben,  it  is  a  dangerous  trade; 
The  sword  has  many  marred  as  well  as  made; 
By  it  do  many  fall,  not  many  rise — 
Makes  many  poor,  few  rich,  not  many  wise; 
Fills  towns  with  ruin,  fields  with  blood  beside; 
"Pis  sloth's  maintainer,  and  the  shield  of  pride; 
Fair  cities,  rich  to-day  in  plenty  flow, 
War  fills  with  want  to-morrow,  and  with  woe; 
Ruined  estates,  victims  of  vice,  broken  limbs,  and  scars 
Are  the  effects  of  desolating  wars." 

One  evening,  as  the  tallow  chandler  was  hurrying  hither 
and  thither  in  his  apron  and  paper  cap,  the  door  opened  with 
a  sharp  ring  of  the  bell  fastened  by  a  string  upon  it.  The  paper 
cap  bobbed  up. 

"  Hoi,  what  now? "  said  the  tallow  chandler. 

"  A  letter  from  England,  sirrah.  The  Lively  Nancy  has 
come  in.  There  it  is." 

The  tallow  chandler  held  the  letter  up  to  the  fire,  for  it 
had  been  a  melting  day,  as  certain  days  on  which  the  melting 
of  tallow  for  the  molds  were  called.  He  read  "  Benjamin 
Franklin,"  and  said:  "  That's  curious — that's  Brother  Ben's 
writing.  I  would  know  that  the  world  over."  He  put  the 
letter  in  his  pocket.  He  saw  Dame  Franklin  looking  through 
the  transom  over  the  door,  and  shook  his  head. 

He  sat  down  with  his  large  family  to  a  meal  of  bread  and 


12  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

milk,  and  then  took  the  letter  from  his  pocket  and  read  it 
over  to  himself. 

"  Ben/'  said  he,  "  this  is  for  you.  I  am  going  to  read  it. 
As  I  do  so,  you  repeat  after  me  the  first  letter  of  the  first  and 
of  every  line.  Are  you  ready?  Now. 

" '  Be  to  thy  parents  an  obedient  son.' '' 

"  B,"  said  little  Ben. 

" '  Each  day  let  duty  constantly  le  done.' " 

"  E,"  the  boy  continued. 

" c  Never  give  way  to  sloth,  or  lust,  or  pride.' " 

"  N,  father." 

" '  Just  free  to  ~be  -from  thousand  ills  leside.' " 

"J,  father." 

" '  Above  all  ills  be  sure  avoid  the  shelf.' '' 

"  A,  father." 

" '  Man's  danger  lies  in  Satan,  sin,  and  self.' " 

"  M,  father." 

" '  In  virtue,  learning,  wisdom,  progress  make.' '' 

"I,  father." 

" '  Ne'er  shrink  at  suffering  for  thy  Saviour's  sake.' " 

"  N",  father.    I  know  what  that  spells." 

"What?" 

"  Benjamin." 

" '  Fraud  and  all  falsehood  in  thy  dealings  flee.' " 

"  F,"  said  the  boy. 

" '  Religious  always  in  thy  station  le.'  " 

"  R,  father." 

" '  Adore  the  Maker  of  thy  inward  heart' " 

"  A,  father." 


UNCLE  BENJAMIN,   THE  POET. 


"  '         ' 


Now's  the  accepted  time,  give  him  thy  heart.'" 
"  N,  father;  and  now  I  can  guess  the  rest." 
"  '  Keep  a  good  conscience,  'tis  a  constant  friend.'  " 
"K,  father." 

"  *  Like  judge  and  witness  this  thy  acts  attend.'  '' 
"  L." 
"  '  In  heart  with  bended  knee  alone  adore'  " 

<(  T  » 

"  '  None  but  the  Three  in  One  forever  more.'  " 
«  N  » 

"And  to  whom  are  all  these  things  written?" 

"'To  BENJAMIN  FBANKLIN/  sir." 

"  Well,  my  boy,  if  you  will  only  follow  the  advice  of  your 
Uncle  Benjamin,  the  poet,  you  never  will  need  any  more  in- 
struction. —  Wife,  hear  this:  Brother  Ben  writes  that  he  is 
coming  to  America  as  soon  as  he  can  settle  his  affairs,  and 
when  he  arrives  I  will  give  over  the  training  of  little  Ben  to 
him.  He  is  his  godfather,  and  he  takes  a  great  interest  in  a 
boy  that  he  has  never  seen.  Sometimes  people  are  drawn 
toward  each  other  before  they  meet  —  there's  a  kind  of  sympa- 
thy in  this  world  that  is  felt  in  ways  unseen  and  that  is  pro- 
phetic. Your  father  was  a  poet,  and  Uncle  Ben,  he  is  one, 
after  a  fashion.  I  wonder  what  little  Ben  will  be!  " 

He  put  on  his  paper  cap  and  opened  the  door  into  the 
molding-room.  The  fire  was  dying  out  on  the  hearth,  and 
the  candles  in  the  molds  were  cooling  and  hardening.  He 
opened  the  weather  door,  causing  the  bell  attached  to  it  to 
ring.  He  stood  looking  out  on  the  bowery  street  of  Boston 
town. 


14-  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

On  the  hill  rose  the  North  Church  in  the  shadows  near 
the  sea.  A  horn  rent  the  still  air.  A  stage  coach  from 
Salem  came  rolling  in  and  stopped  at  the  Boston  Stone,  not 
far  away.  A  little  girl  tripped  down  the  street. 

"  A  pound  of  candles,  sir." 

"  Hoi,  yes,  yes,"  and  he  took  some  candles  out  of  a  mold 
and  laid  them  in  the  scales.  The  girl  courtesied,  and  the  tallow 
chandler  closed  the  door  with  a  ting-a-ling. 

Then  Josiah  sat  down  with  his  family  and  played  the  vio- 
lin. He  loved  his  brother  Benjamin,  and  the  thought  of  his 
coming  made  him  a  happy  man. 

One  day  the  old  man  came.  Soon  after  there  happened  a 
great  event  in  the  family. 

It  was  a  windy  night.  The  ocean  was  dashing  and  foam- 
ing along  the  sea  wall  on  the  heach  where  Long  Wharf,  Lewis 
Wharf,  and  Eowe's  Wharf  now  are.  The  stars  shone  brightly, 
and  clouds  flew  scudding  over  the  moon. 

Abiah  Franklin  opened  the  weather  door  and  looked  out. 
She  returned  to  her  great  chair  slowly  with  a  cloud  in  her 
face. 

"  It  is  a  bad  night  for  those  on  the  sea,"  she  said.  "  It  is 
now  nine  years  since  Josiah  went  away.  Where  he  found  an 
ocean  grave  we  shall  never  know.  It  is  hard,"  she  added,  "  to 
have  hope  leave  you  in  this  way.  It  is  one  long  torture  to  live 
in  suspense.  There  hasn't  been  a  day  since  the  first  year  after 
Josiah  left  us  that  my  ear  has  not  waited  to  hear  a  knock  on 
the  door  on  a  night  like  this. 

"  Josiah,  you  may  say  that  I  have  faith  in  the  impossible, 
but  I  sometimes  believe  that  I  shall  hear  that  knock  yet. 


UNCLE  BENJAMIN,   THE  POET.  15 

There  is  one  Scripture  that  comforts  me  when  I  think  that; 
it  is,  '  Commit  thy  way  unto  the  Lord;  trust  also  in  him,  and 
he  shall  bring  it  to  pass.' " 

Josiah  Franklin  sat  silent.  It  was  now  indeed  nine  years 
since  his  son  Josiah  had  left  home  against  his  will  and  gone 
to  sea — "  run  away  to  sea/'  as  his  departure  was  called.  It 
was  a  kind  of  mental  distemper  in  old  New  England  times 
for  a  boy  "  to  run  away  and  go  to  sea." 

There  had  been  fearful  storms  on  the  coast.  Abiah  Frank- 
lin was  a  silent  woman  when  the  winds  bended  the  trees  and 
the  waves  broke  loudly  on  the  shore.  She  thought  then; 
she  inwardly  prayed,  but  she  said  little  of  the  storm  that  was 
in  her  heart. 

"  I  shall  never  see  Josiah  again,"  at  last  said  Josiah  Frank- 
lin. "  It  is  a  pity;  it  is  hard  on  me  that  the  son  who  bears 
my  name  should  leave  me,  to  become  a  wanderer.  Boys  will 
do  such  things.  I  may  have  made  his  home  too  strict  for  him; 
if  so,  may  the  Lord  forgive  me.  I  have  meant  to  do  my  best 
for  all  my  children. — Ben,  let  Josiah  be  a  warning  to  you; 
you  have  been  having  the  boy  fever  to  go  to  sea.  Hear  the 
winds  blow  and  the  sea  dash!  Josiah  must  have  longed  to  be 
back  by  the  fire  on  nights  like  these." 

Josiah  went  to  the  window  and  tapped  upon  the  pane.  He 
did  that  often  when  his  mind  was  troubled.  To  tap  upon  the 
pane  eased  his  heartache.  It  was  an  old  New  England  way. 

Josiah  took  his  violin,  tuned  it,  and  began  to  play  while 
the  family  listened  by  the  fading  coals. 

"  I  thought  I  heard  something,"  said  Abiah  between  one 
of  the  tunes. 


16  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

"What  was  it,  Abiah?"  asked  her  husband. 

"  It  sounded  like  a  step.'* 

"That's  nothing  strange." 

"  It  sounded  familiar,"  she  said.     "  Steps  are  peculiar." 

"  Oh,  I  know  of  whom  you  are  thinking,"  said  Josiah. 
"  May  the  Lord  comfort  you,  for  the  winds  and  waves  do  not 
to-night." 

He  played  again.    His  wife  grew  restless. 

"Josiah,"  said  she  when  he  ceased  playing,  "you  may 
say  that  I  have  fancies,  but  I  thought  I  saw  a  face  pass  the 
window." 

"  That  is  likely,  Abiah." 

"  But  this  one  had  a  short  chin  and  a  long  nose." 

She  choked,  and  her  eyes  were  wet. 

There  came  a  rap  upon  the  door.  It  was  a  strong  hand 
that  made  it;  there  was  a  heart  in  the  sound. 

"I'll  open  the  door,  Josiah,"  said  Abiah. 

She  removed  the  wooden  bar  with  a  trembling  hand,  and 
lifted  the  latch. 

A  tall,  rugged  form  stood  before  her.     She  started  back. 

"Mother,  don't  you  know  me?" 

"  Yes,  Josiah,  I  knew  that  you  were  coming  to-night." 

She  gazed  into  his  eyes  silently. 

"Who  told  you,  mother?" 

"My  soul." 

"  Well,  I've  come  back  like  the  prodigal  son.  Let  me  give 
you  a  smack.  You'll  take  me  in— but  how  about  father?  I 
thought  I  heard  him  playing  the  violin." 

"Josiah,  that  is  your  voice!"  exclaimed  Josiah  the  elder. 


UNCLE  BENJAMIN,   THE  POET.  17 

"  Now  my  cup  of  joy  is  full  and  running  over.  Josiah,  come 
in  out  of  the  storm." 

Josiah  Franklin  rushed  to  the  door  and  locked  his  son  in 
his  arms,  but  there  was  probably  but  little  sentiment  in  the 
response. 

"  Now  I  know  the  parable  of  the  prodigal  son/'  said  he. 
"  I  had  only  read  it  before.  Come  in!  come  in!  There  are 
brothers  and  sisters  here  whom  you  have  never  seen.  Now 
we  are  all  here." 

Uncle  Benjamin  wrote  a  poem  to  celebrate  young  Josiah's 
return.  It  was  read  in  the  family,  with  disheartening  results. 
Sailor  Josiah  said  that  he  "  never  cared  much  for  poetry." 
The  poem  may  be  found  in  the  large  biographies  of  Franklin. 


CHAPTER   III. 

BENJAMIN   AND    BENJAMIN. 

AN  old  man  sat  by  an  open  fire  in  a  strange-looking  room 
with  a  little  boy  on  his  knee.  Beside  him  was  a  middle-aged 
man,  the  father  of  the  boy. 

"  Brother  Josiah,"  said  the  old  man,  "  I  have  had  a  hard, 
disappointed  life,  but  I  have  done  the  best  that  I  could,  and 
there  has  nothing  happened  since  my  own  children  died  and 
my  hair  turned  gray  that  has  made  me  so  happy  as  that  letter 
that  you  sent  to  me  in  England  in  which  you  told  me  that 
you  had  named  this  boy  for  me." 

"  It  makes  me  happy  to  see  you  here  by  my  fire  to-night, 
with  the  boy  in  your  lap,"  said  the  father.  "  Benjamin  and 
Benjamin!  My  heart  has  been  true  to  you  in  all  your  troubles 
and  losses,  and  I  would  have  helped  you  had  I  been  able. 
How  did  you  get  up  the  resolution  to  cross  the  sea  in  your  old 
age?" 

"  Brother  Josiah,  it  was  because  my  own  son  is  here, 
and  he  was  all  that  I  had  left  of  my  own  family.  But  that 
was  not  all.  In  one  sense  my  own  life  has  failed;  I  have  come 
down  to  old  age  with  empty  hands.  When  your  letter  came 
saying  that  you  had  named  this  boy  for  me,  and  had  made 
me  his  godfather,  I  saw  that  you  pitied  me,  and  that  you  had 

18 


BENJAMIN  AND  BENJAMIN.  19 

a  place  for  me  in  your  heart.  I  thought  of  all  the  years  that 
we  had  passed  together  when  we  were  young;  of  the  farm  and 
forge  in  Ecton;  of  Banbury;  of  the  chimes  of  Nottingham; 
of  all  that  we  were  to  each  other  then. 

"  I  was  all  alone  in  London,  and  there  my  heart  turned  to 
you  as  it  did  when  we  were  boys.  That  gave  me  resolution  to 
cross  the  sea,  Brother  Josiah,  although  my  hair  is  white  and 
my  veins  are  thin. 

"  But  that  was  not  all,  brother;  he  is  a  poor  man  indeed 
who  gives  up  hope.  When  a  man  loses  hope  for  himself,  he 
wishes  to  live  in  another.  The  ancients  used  to  pray  that 
their  sons  might  be  nobler  than  themselves.  When  I  read 
your  letter  that  said  that  you  had  named  this  boy  for  me  and 
had  made  me  his  godfather,  you  can  not  tell  how  life  revived 
in  me — it  was  like  seeing  a  rainbow  after  a  storm.  I  said  to 
myself  that  I  had  another  hope  in  this  world;  that  I  would 
live  in  the  boy.  I  have  come  over  to  America  to  live  in  this 
boy. 

"  0  brother,  I  never  thought  that  I  would  see  an  hour 
like  this!  I  am  poor,  but  I  am  happy.  I  am  happy  because 
you  loved  me  after  I  became  poor  and  friendless.  That  was 
your  opportunity  to  show  what  your  heart  was.  I  am  happy 
because  you  trusted  me  and  gave  my  name  to  this  boy. 

"  Brother  Josiah,  I  have  come  over  to  America  to  return 
your  love,  in  teaching  this  boy  how  to  live  and  how  to  fulfill  the 
best  that  is  in  him.  A  boy  with  your  heart  can  succeed  in 
life,  even  if  he  have  but  common  gifts.  The  best  thing  that 
can  be  said  of  any  man  is  that  he  is  true-hearted.  Brother, 
you  have  been  true-hearted  to  me,  and  the  boy  inherits  your 


20  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

nature,  and  I  am  going  to  be  true-hearted  to  him  and  to  do 
all  I  can  to  make  his  life  a  blessing  to  you  and  the  world.  We 
do  no  self-sacrificing  thing  without  fruit." 

The  old  man  put  his  arm  about  the  boy,  and  said: 

"  Ben,  little  Ben,  I  loved  you  before  I  saw  you,  and  I  love 
you  more  than  ever  now.  I  have  come  across  the  ocean  in 
my  old  age  to  be  with  you.  I  want  you  to  like  me,  Ben." 

"  I  do,  uncle,"  said  little  Ben.  "  I  would  rather  be  with 
you  than  with  any  one.  I  am  glad  that  you  have  come." 

"  That  makes  me  happy,  that  makes  my  old  heart  happy. 
I  did  everything  a  man  could  do  for  his  wife  and  children  and 
for  everybody.  I  was  left  alone  in  London,  poor;  I  seemed  to 
be  a  forsaken  man,  but  this  makes  up  for  all." 

"Benjamin  and  Benjamin!"  said  the  younger  brother, 
touching  the  strings  of  the  violin  that  he  held  on  his  lap — 
"  Benjamin  and  Benjamin!  Brother  Benjamin,  how  did  you 
get  the  money  to  cross  the  ocean?  " 

"  I  sold  my  goods  and  my  pamphlets.  They  were  my  life; 
I  had  put  my  life  into  them.  But  I  sold  them,  for  what  were 
they  if  I  could  have  the  chance  to  live  another  life  in  little 
Ben?  " 

"What  were  your  pamphlets?"  asked  little  Ben. 

"  They  were  my  life,  and  I  sold  them  for  you,  that  I  might 
make  your  life  a  blessing  to  your  father,  who  has  been  a  true 
brother  to  me.  I  will  tell  you  the  whole  story  of  the  pam- 
phlets some  day." 

"  Uncle,  I  love  you  more  than  ever  before,  because  you 
sold  the  treasures  for  me.  I  wish  that  I  might  grow  up  and 
help  folks,  so  that  my  name  might  honor  yours. 


BENJAMIN  AND  BENJAMIN.  21 

"  You  can  make  it  that,  my  boy.  If  you  will  let  me  teach 
you,  you  may  make  it  that.  There  can  nothing  stand  before 
a  will  that  wills  to  do  good.  It  is  the  heart  that  has  power, 
my  boy.  My  life  will  not  have  been  lost  if  I  can  live  in 
you." 

"  I  have  not  much  time  for  educating  my  children,"  said 
the  younger  brother.  "  I  am  going  to  give  over  the  training 
of  the  boy  to  you.  True  education  begins  with  the  heart  first, 
so  as  to  make  right  ideas  fixed  in  the  mind  and  right  habits, 
in  the  conduct.  It  may  be  little  that  I  can  send  him  to  school, 
but  it  is  what  you  can  do  for  him  that  will  give  him  a  start 
in  life.  I  want  you  to  see  that  he  starts  right  in  life.  I  leave 
his  training  to  you.  I  have  a  dozen  mouths  to  feed,  and  small 
time  for  anything  but  toil." 

He  tuned  his  violin  and  played  an  old  English  air.  There 
were  candle  molds  in  the  room,  long  rows  of  candle  wicks, 
great  kettles,  a  gun,  a  Bible,  some  old  books,  and  a  fireplace 
with  a  great  crane,  hooks,  and  andirons. 

Little  Benjamin  looked  up  into  the  old  man's  face  and 
laid  his  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  I  am  glad  father  did  not  forget  you,"  said  he. 

The  old  man's  lip  quivered. 

"He  has  been  a  true  brother  to  me.     Always  remember 

« 

that,  boy,  as  long  as  you  live.  It  is  such  memories  as  that 
that  teach.  His  heart  is  true  to  me  now  as  when  we  used 
to  leave  the  forge  and  roam  the  woods  of  Banbury  together 
in  springtime,  when  the  skylark  rose  out  of  the  meadows  and 
the  hedgerows  bloomed.  It  is  good  for  families  to  be  so 
true  to  each  other.  If  one  member  of  a  family  lacks  any- 


22  TKUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

thing,  it  is  good  for  another  to  make  up  for  it.  Yes,  boy, 
your  father  has  a  good  heart,  else  you  would  not  now  be  in 
my  arms." 

"Why  do  you  cry,  papa?"  said  the  boy,  for  his  father's 
eyes  were  filled  with  tears  which  coursed  down  his  cheeks. 
Something  that  aged  Benjamin  hacf  said  about  the  forge, 
the  nightingale,  or  the  thorn  had  touched  his  heart. 

"  We  can  never  be  young  again,  brother,"  said  Josiah 
Franklin.  "  I  shall  never  see  the  thorn  bloom  or  hear  the 
nightingale  sing  as  I  once  did.  No,  no,  no;  but  I  am  glad 
that  I  have  brought  you  and  Ben  together.  That  would  have 
pleased  our  old  mother's  heart,  long  dead  and  gone  to  the 
violets  and  primroses.  Do  you  suppose  the  dead  know?  I 
sometimes  think  they  do,  and  that  it  makes  them  happy  to  see 
things  like  these.  I  will  talk  with  the  parson  about  these 
things  some  day." 

The  younger  brother  smiled  through  his  tears  and  straight- 
ened himself  up,  as  though  he  felt  that  he  had  yielded  to  weak- 
ness, for  he  was  a  plain,  hard-working  man.  Suddenly  he 
said: 

"  Brother,  you  remember  Uncle  Tom  ?  " 

'•'  Yes,  yes;  he  set  the  chimes  of  Nottingham  ringing  in 
the  air.  I  can  hear  them  ringing  now  in  my  memory.  Brother, 
I  think  little  Ben  favors  Uncle  Tom." 

"Who  was  Uncle  Tom?"  asked  the  boy. 

"  They  used  to  say  that  he  was  a  wizard.  I  will  tell  you 
all  about  him  some  day.  Let  us  listen  now  to  your  father's 
violin." 

The  house  was  still,  save  that  the  sea  winds  stirred  the  crisp 


BENJAMIN  AND  BENJAMIN.  23 

autumn  leaves  in  the  great  trees  near  and  the  nine  o'clock  bell 
fell  solemnly  on  the  air.  A  watchman  went  by,  saying,  "  All 
is  well! " 

Yes,  all  is  well  in  hearts  like  these — hearts  that  can  pity, 
love,  forbear,  and  feel. 


CHAPTER   IV. 
FRANKLIN'S  STORY  OF  A  HOLIDAY  IN  CHILDHOOD. 

As  barren  as  was  the  early  Puritan  town  in  things  that 
please  the  fancy  of  the  child,  Josiah  Franklin's  home  was  a 
cheerful  one.  It  kept  holidays,  when  the  violin  was  played, 
and  some  pennies  were  bestowed  upon  the  many  children. 

Let  us  enter  the  house  by  the  candle-room  door.  The 
opening  of  the  door  rings  a  bell.  There  is  an  odor  of  tallow 
everywhere.  One  side  is  hung  with  wickings,  to  be  cut  and 
trimmed. 

When  the  tallow  is  boiling  the  room  is  very  hot,  close,  and 
the  atmosphere  oily. 

There  is  a  soap  kettle  in  the  room.  The  odor  of  the  lye 
is  more  agreeable  than  that  of  the  melted  tallow. 

Little  Ben  is  here,  short,  stout,  rosy-faced,  with  a  great 
head.  Where  he  goes  the  other  children  go;  what  he 
does,  they  do.  Already  a  little  world  has  begun  to  follow 
him. 

Look  at  him  as  he  runs  around  among  the  candle  molds, 
talking  like  a  philosopher.  Does  he  seem  likely  to  stand  in 
the  French  court  amid  the  splendors  of  the  palace  of  Ver- 
sailles, the  most  popular  and  conspicuous  person  among  all 
the  jeweled  multitude  who  fill  the  mirrored,  the  golden,  the 

24 


FRANKLIN'S  STORY  OF  A  HOLIDAY.  25 

blazing  halls  except  the  king  himself?  Does  he  look  as  though 
he  would  one  day  ask  the  French  king  for  an  army  to  help 
establish  the  independence  of  his  country,  and  that  the  throne 
would  bow  to  him? 

Homely  as  was  that  home,  the  fancy  of  Franklin  after  he 
became  great  always  loved  to  return  to  it. 

In  his  advanced  years  he  wished  to  prepare  a  little  story 
or  parable  that  would  show  that  people  spend  too  much  time 
and  money  on  things  that  could  be  more  cheaply  purchased 
or  that  they  could  well  do  without.  He  wrote  out  an  anec- 
dote of  his  childhood  that  illustrated  in  a  clear  way,  like  so 
many  flashes,  how  the  resources  of  life  may  be  wasted.  The 
story  has  been  printed,  we  may  safely  say,  a  thousand  times. 
Few  stories  have  ever  had  a  wider  circulation  or  been  more 
often  quoted.  It  has  in  it  a  picture  of  his  old  home,  and  as 
such  we  must  give  it  here.  Here  is  the  parable  again,  as  in  the 
original : 

"  When  I  was  a  child,  at  seven  years  old,  my  friends,  on  a 
holiday,  filled  my  pockets  with  coppers.  I  went  directly  to  a 
shop  where  they  sold  toys  for  children,  and,  being  charmed 
with  the'sound  of  a  whistle  that  I  met  by  the  way  in  the  hands 
of  another  boy,  I  voluntarily  offered  him  all  my  money  for 
one.  I  then  came  home,  and  went  whistling  all  over  the  house, 
much  pleased  with  my  wliistle,  but  disturbing  all  the  family. 
My  brothers  and  sisters  and  cousins,  understanding  the  bar- 
gain I  had  made,  told  me  I  had  given  four  times  as  much  for 
it  as  it  was  worth.  This  put  me  in  mind  what  good  things 
I  might  have  bought  with  the  rest  of  the  money;  and  they 
laughed  at  me  so  much  for  my  folly  that  I  cried  with  vexa- 


26  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

tion,  and  the  reflection  gave  me  more  chagrin  than  the  whistle 
gave  me  pleasure. 

"  This,  however,  was  afterward  of  use  to  me,  the  impres- 
sion continuing  on  my  mind;  so  that  often,  when  I  was  tempted 
to  buy  some  unnecessary  thing,  I  said  to  myself,  Don't  give 
too  mucli  for  the  whistle,  and  so  I  saved  my  money. 

"  As  I  grew  up,  came  into  the  world,  and  observed  the 
actions  of  men,  I  thought  I  met  with  many,  very  many,  who 
gave  too  mucli  for  the  whistle. 

"  When  I  saw  any  one  too  ambitious  of  court  favor,  sacri- 
ficing his  time  in  attendance  on  levees,  his  repose,  his  liberty, 
his  virtue,  and  perhaps  his  friends,  to  attain  it,  I  have  said  to 
myself,  This  man  gave  too  much  for  his  whistle. 

"  When  I  saw  another  fond  of  popularity,  constantly  em- 
ploying himself  in'  political  bustles,  neglecting  his  own  affairs, 
and  ruining  them  by  neglect,  He  pays,  indeed,  says  I,  too  much 
for  this  whistle. 

"  If  I  knew  a  miser  who  gave  up  every  kind  of  comfortable 
living,  all  the  pleasure  of  doing  good  to  others,  all  the  esteem 
of  his  fellow-citizens,  and  the  joys  of  benevolent  friendship 
for  the  sake  of  accumulating  wealth,  Poor  man,  says  I,  you 
do,  indeed,  pay  too  much  for  your  whistle. 

"  When  I  meet  a  man  of  pleasure,  sacrificing  every  lauda- 
ble improvement  of  mind,  or  of  his  fortune,  to  mere  corporeal 
sensations,  Mistaken  man,  says  I,  you  are  providing  pain 
for  yourself  instead  of  pleasure;  you  give  too  much  for  your 
whistle. 

"  If  I  see  one  fond  of  fine  clothes,  fine  furniture,  fine  equi- 
pages, all  above  his  fortune,  for  which  he  contracts  debts,  and 


FRANKLIN'S  STORY  OF  A  HOLIDAY.  27 

ends  his  career  in  prison,  Alas!  says  I,  lie  has  paid  dear,  very 
dear,  for  his  whistk. 

"  When  I  see  a  beautiful,  sweet-tempered  girl  married  to 
an  ill-natured  brute  of  a  husband,  What  a  pity  it  is,  says  I,  that 
she  had  paid  so  much  for  a  whistle ! 

"  In  short,  I  conceived  that  great  part  of  the  miseries  of 
mankind  were  brought  upon  them  by  the  false  estimates  they 
had  made  of  the  value  of  things,  and  by  their  giving  too  much 
for  their  whistle." 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE  BOY  FHAXKLIN'S  KITE. 

LITTLE  Ben  now  began  to  lead  the  sports  of  the  boys.  As 
there  came  to  Froebel  an  inspiration  to  found  a  system  of 
education  in  which  the  playground  should  be  made  a  means 
of  forming  character  when  life  was  in  the  clay,  so  to  young 
Franklin  came  a  desire  to  make  sports  and  pastimes  useful. 
This  caused  him  to  build  the  little  wharf  in  the  soft  marsh 
whence  the  boys  might  catch  minnows  and  sail  their  boats. 

Boys  of  nearly  all  countries  and  ages  have  found  delight 
in  flying  kites.  A  light  frame  of  wood,  covered  with  paper, 
held  by  a  long  string,  and  raised  by  propelling  it  against  the 
air,  has  always  peculiar  attractions  for  the  young.  To  see 
an  object  rise  from  the  earth  by  a  law  of  Nature  which  seems 
to  overcome  gravitation  to  the  sky  while  the  string  is  yet  in 
the  hand,  gives  a  boy  a  sense  of  power  which  excites  his  im- 
agination and  thrills  his  blood. 

In  Franklin's  time  the  boy  who  could  fly  his  kite  the  high- 
est, or  who  could  make  his  kite  appear  to  be  the  most  pic- 
turesque in  the  far-away  blue  sky,  was  regarded  as  a  leader 
among  his  fellows,  and  young  Franklin,  as  we  may  infer,  made 
his  kite  fly  very  high. 

But  he  was  not  content  with  the  altitude  to  which  he 

28 


THE  BOY  FRANKLIN'S  KITE.  29 

could  raise  his  kite  or  its  beauty  in  the  sky.  His  inquiry  was, 
What  can  the  kite  be  made  to  teach  that  is  useful?  What 
can  it  be  made  to  do?  What  good  can  it  accomplish? 

Ben  was  an  expert  swimmer.  After  he  had  mastered  the 
art  of  overcoming  the  water,  he  sought  how  to  make  swim- 
ming safe  and  easy;  and  when  he  had  learned  this  himself, 
he  taught  other  boys  how  to  swim  safely  and  easily. 

One  day  he  was  flying  his  kite  on  the  shore.  His  imagina- 
tion had  wings  as  well  as  the  kite,  and  he  followed  it  with  the 
eye  of  fancy  as  it  drifted  along  the  sky  pulling  at  his  fingers. 

It  was  a  warm  day,  and  the  cool  harbor  rippled  near,  and 
he  began  to  feel  a  desire  to  plunge  into  the  water,  but  he  did 
not  like  to  pull  down  his  kite. 

He  threw  off  his  clothes  and  dropped  into  the  cool  water, 
still  holding  his  kite  string,  which  was  probably  fastened  to 
a  short  stick  in  his  hand. 

He  turned  on  his  back  in  the  water  and  floated,  looking 
up  to  the  kite  in  the  blue,  sunny  sky. 

But  something  was  happening.  The  kite,  like  a  sail  in  a 
boat,  was  bearing  him  along.  He  was  the  boat,  the  kite  high 
in  the  sky  was  the  sail,  between  the  two  was  a  single  string. 
He  could  sail  himself  on  the  water  by  a  kite  in  the  sky! 

So  he  drifted  along,  near  the  Mystic  River  probably,  on 
that  warm  pleasant  day.  The  sense  of  the  power  that  he 
gained  by  thus  obeying  a  law  of  Nature  filled  him  with  delight. 
He  could  not  have  then  dreamed  that  the  simple  discovery 
would  lead  up  to  another  which  would  enable  man  to  see  how 
to  control  one  of  the  greatest  forces  in  the  universe.  He  saw 
simply  that  he  could  make  the  air  work  for  him,  and  he  prob- 


30  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

ably  dreamed  that  sometime  and  somewhere  the  same  prin- 
ciple would  enable  an  inventor  to  show  the  world  how  to 
navigate  the  air. 

The  kite  now  became  to  him  something  more  than  a  play- 
thing— a  wonder.  It  caused  his  fancy  to  soar,  and  little  Ben 
was  always  happy  when  his  fancy  was  on  the  wing. 

There  was  a  man  named  Jamie  who  liked  to  loiter  around 
the  Blue  Ball.  He  was  a  Scotchman,  and  full  of  humor. 

"An'  wot  you  been  doin'  now?"  said  Jamie  the  Scotch- 
man, as  the  boy  returned  to  the  Blue  Ball  with  his  big  kite 
and  wet  hair.  "  Kite-flying  and  swimming  don't  go  together." 

"Ah,  sirrah,  don't  you  think  that  any  more!  Kite-flying 
and  floating  on  one's  back  in  the  water  do  go  together.  I've 
been  making  a  boat  of  myself,  and  the  sail  was  in  the  sky." 

"  Sho!    How  did  that  come  about?  " 

"  I  floated  on  my  back  and  held  the  kite  string  in  my  hand, 
and  the  kite  drew  me  along." 

"It  did,  hey?  Well,  it  might  do  that  with  a  little  shaver 
like  you.  What  made  you  think  of  that,  I  would  like  to  know? 
You're  a-lways  thinkin'  out  somethin'  new.  You'll  get  into 
difficulties  some  day,  like  the  dog  that  saw  the  moon  in  the 
well  and  leaped  down  to  fetch  it  up;  he  gave  one  howl,  only 
one,  once  for  all,  and  then  they  fetched  Mm  up;  he  had  noth- 
ing more  to  say.  So  it  will  be  with  you  if  you  go  kiting  about 
after  such  things,  flyin'  kites  for  boat  sails." 

"  But,  Jamie,  I  think  that  I  am  the  first  boy  that  ever 
sailed  on  the  water  without  a  boat — now  don't  you?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know.  There's  nothin'  new  under  the  sun. 
People  like  you  that  are  always  inquirin'  out  the  whys  and 


THE  BOY  FRANKLIN'S  KITE.  3j 

wherefores  of  things  commonly  get  into  trouble.  Ben,  wot 
will  ever  become  of  you,  I  wonder?  " 

"  Archimedes  made  water  run  uphill." 

"  He  did,  hey?  So  he  did,  as  I  remember  to  have  read. 
But  he  lost  his  life  broodin'  over  a  lot  of  figers  that  he  was 
drawin'  on  the  sand — angles  and  triangles  an'  things.  The 
Roman  soldier  cut  him  down  when  he  was  dreamin',  and  they 
let  his  tomb  all  grow  up  to  briers.  Do  you  think,  Ben,  that 
you  will  ever  make  the  river  run  uphill?  Perhaps  you'll  turn 
the  water  up  to  the  sky  on  a  kite  string,  and  then  we  can  have 
rain  in  plantin'  time.  Who  knows?  " 

He  added  thoughtfully: 

"  I  wouldn't  wonder,  Ben,  if  you  invented  somethin'  if 
you  live.  But  the  prospect  isn't  very  encouragin'  of  your  ever 
doin'  anything  alarmin'." 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  what  Archimedes  exclaimed  when  he 
discovered  the  law  that  a  body  plunged  in  water  loses  as  much 
of  its  weight  as  is  equal  to  the  weight  of  an  equal  volume  of 
the  fluid,  and  applied  it  to  the  alloy  in  the  king's  crown?  " 

"  No.    Wot  did  he  exclaim?  " 

"Eureka!   Eureka!" 

"  Wot  did  he  do  that  for?  " 

"  It  means,  '  I  have  found  it.'  * 

"  Maybe  you'll  find  out  something  sometime,  Ben.  You  all 
run  to  dreams  about  such  things,  and  some  boys  turn  their 
dreams  into  facts,  as  architects  build  their  imaginations  and 
make  money.  But  the  fifteenth  child  of  a  tallow  chandler, 
who  was  the  son  of  a  blacksmith  and  of  a  woman  whose  mother 
was  bought  and  sold,  a  boy  whose  wits  are  off  kite-flyin'  in- 


32  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

stead  of  wick-cuttin'  and  tallow-moldin',  has  no  great  chance 
in  the  future,  so  it  looks  to  me.  But  one  can't  always  tell. 
I  don't  think  that  you'll  never  get  to  be  an  Archimedes  and 
cry  out  '  Eureka! '  But  you've  got  imagination  enough  to 
hitch  the  world  to  a  kite  and  send  it  off  among  the  planets 
and  shootin'  stars,  no  one  knows  where.  I  never  did  see  any 
little  shaver  that  had  so  much  kite-flyin'  in  his  head  as  you." 

"  Archimedes  said  that  if  he  only  had  a  lever  long  enough 
he  would  move  the  world." 

"He  did,  hey?  Well,  little  Ben  Franklin,  you  just  put 
up  your  kite  and  attend  to  the  candle  molds,  and  let  swim- 
min'  in  the  air  all  go.  Whatever  may  happen  on  this  planet, 
you'll  never  be  likely  to  move  the  world  with  a  kite,  of  all 
things,  nor  with  anything  else,  for  that  matter.  So  it  looks  to 
me,  and  I'm  generally  pretty  far-sighted.  It  takes  practical 
people  to  do  practical  things.  Still,  the  old  Bible  does  say  that 
'  where  there  is  no  vision  the  people  perish.'  Well,  I  don't 
know — as  I  said,  we  can  not  always  tell — David  slew  a  giant 
with  a  pebble  stone,  and  you  may  come  to  somethin'  by  some 
accident  «or  other.  I'm  sure  I  wish  you  well.  It  may  be  that 
your  uncle  Benjamin,  the  poet,  will  train  you  when  he  comes 
to  understand  you,  but  his  thoughts  run  to  kite-flyin'  and  such 
things,  and  he  never  has  amounted  to  anything  at  all,  I'm 
told.  You  was  named  after  him,  and  rightly,  I  guess.  He 
would  like  to  have  been  a  Socrates.  But  the  tape  measure 
wouldn't  fit  his  head." 

He  saw  a  shade  in  the  boy's  face,  and  added: 

"He's  going  to  live  here,  they  say.  Then  there  will  be 
two  of  you,  and  you  could  fly  kites  and  make  up  poetry 


THE  BOY  FRANKLIN'S  KITE.  33 

together,  if  it  were  not  for  a  dozen  mouths  to  feed,  which  mat- 
ters generally  tend  to  bring  one  down  from  the  sky." 

An  older  son  of  Josiah  Franklin  appeared. 

"  James,"  said  Jamie,  "  here's  your  brother  Ben;  he's  been 
sailin'  with  the  sail  in  the  sky.  He  ought  to  be  keerful  of  his 
talents.  There's  no  knowin'  what  they  may  lead  up  to.  When 
a  person  gets  started  in  such  ways  as  these  there's  no  knowin' 
how  far  he  may  go." 

Brother  James  opened  the  weather  door  at  the  Blue  Ball. 
The  bell  tinkled  and  Ben  followed  him  in,  and  the  two  sat 
down  to  bowls  of  bread,  sweet  apples,  and  milk. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing,  Ben?"  asked  Brother  James. 

Little  Ben  did  not  answer.  He  got  up  from  the  table  and 
went  away  downhearted,  with  his  face  in  his  jacket  sleeve.  It 
hurt  him  to  be  laughed  at,  but  his  imagination  was  a  comfort- 
ing companion  to  him  in  hours  like  these. 

He  could*  go  kite-flying  in  his  mind,  and  no  one  could  see 
the  flight. 

"  One  can  not  make  an  eagle  run  around  a  barnyard  like 
a  hen,"  said  a  sage  observer  of  life.  There  was  the  Hood  of 
noble  purposes  in  little  Ben  Franklin's  vein,  if  his  ancestors 
were  blacksmiths  and  his  grandmother  had  been  a  white  slave 
whose  services  were  bought  and  sold.  He  had  begun  kite-fly- 
ing; he  will  fly  a  kite  again  one  day. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

LITTLE  BEN'S  GUINEA   PIG. 

BEN  loved  little  animals.  He  not  only  liked  to  have  them 
about  him,  but  it  gave  him  great  joy  to  protect  them.  One  of 
his  pets  was  a  guinea  pig. 

"There  are  few  traits  of  character  that  speak  better  for 
the  future  of  a  boy  than  that  which  seeks  to  protect  the  help- 
less and  overlooked  in  the  brute  creation,"  said  Uncle  Benjamin 
to  Abiah  Franklin  one  day.  "  There  are  not  many  animals 
that  have  so  many  enemies  as  a  guinea  pig.  Cats,  dogs,  and 
even  the  hens  run  after  the  harmless  little  thing.  I  wonder 
that  this  one  should  be  alive  now.  He  would  have  been  dead 
but  for  Ben." 

Abiah  had  been  spinning.  It  was  a  windy  day,  and  the 
winds,  too,  had  been  spinning  as  it  were  around  the  house. 
She  had  stopped  to  rest  in  her  work.  But  the  winds  had  not 
stopped,  but  kept  up  a  sound  like  that  of  the  wheel. 

"  You  are  always  saying  good  things  about  little  Ben," 
said  Abiah.  "  What  is  it  that  you  see  in  him  that  is  different 
from  other  boys  ?  " 

"  Personality,"  said  Uncle  Ben.  "  Look  at  him  now,  out 
in  the  yard.  He  has  been  protecting  the  pigeon  boxes  from  the 
wind,  and  after  them  the  rabbit  warren.  He  is  always  seeking 

34 


I 
LITTLE  BEN'S  GUINEA  PIG.  35 

to  make  life  more  comfortable  for  everybody  and  everything. 
Now,  Abiah,  a  heart  that  seeks  the  good  of  others  will  never 
want  for  a  friend  and  a  home.  This  personality  will  make  for 
him  many  friends  and  some  enemies  in  the  future.  The  power 
of  life  lies  in  the  heart." 

The  weather  door  opened,  and  little  Ben  came  into  the 
room  and  asked  for  a  cooky  out  of  the  earthen  jar. 

"Where's  your  guinea  pig,  my  boy?"  asked  Uncle  Benja- 
min. "  I  only  see  him  now  and  then." 

"Why  do  you  call  him  a  guinea  pig,  uncle?"  asked  little 
Ben.  "  He  did  not  come  from  Guinea,  and  he  is  not  a  pig. 
He  came  from  South  America,  where  it  is  warm,  and  he  is  a 
covey;  he  is  not  a  bit  of  a  rabbit,  and  not  a  pig." 

"  Where  do  you  keep  him?  "  asked  Uncle  Benjamin. 

"  I  keep  him  where  he  is  warm,  uncle.  It  makes  my  heart 
all  shrink  up  to  see  the  little  thing  shiver  when  the  wind  strikes 
him.  It  is  cruel  to  bring  such  animals  into  a  climate  like 
this." 

"  There  are  tens  of  thousands  of  guinea  pigs,  or  coveys,  in 
the  land  where  they  are  found.  Yes,  millions,  I  am  told.  One 
guinea  pig  don't  count  for  much." 

"  But,  uncle,  one  feels  the  cold  wind  as  much  as  another 
would — as  much  as  each  of  all  the  millions  would." 

"  But,  Ben,  you  have  not  answered  my  question.  Where 
is  the  little  covey  now?" 

Little  Ben  colored  red,  and  looked  suspiciously  toward  the 
door  of  the  room  in  which  his  father  was  at  work.  He  pres- 
ently saw  his  father's  paper  hat  through  the  light  over  the 
door,  and  said: 


36  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

"  Let  me  tell  you  some  other  time,  uncle.  They  will  laugh 
at  me  if  I  tell  you  now." 

"  Benjamin,"  said  his  mother,  "  we  are  going  to  have  a 
family  gathering  this  year  on  the  anniversary  of  the  day  when 
your  father  landed  here  in  1685.  The  family  are  all  coming 
home,  and  the  two  Folger  girls — the  schoolmarms — will  be 
here  from  jSTantucket.  You  will  have  to  take  the  guinea-pig 
box  out  of  your  room  under  the  eaves.  The  Folger  girls  are 
very  particular.  What  would  your  aunts  Hannah  and  Patience 
Folger,  the  schoolmarms,  say  if  they  were  to  find  your  room 
a  sty  for  a  guinea  pig?" 

"  My  little  covey,  mother,"  said  Ben.  "  I'll  put  the  cage 
into  the  shop.  No,  he  would  be  killed  there.  I'll  put  him 
where  he  will  not  offend  my  aunts,  mother." 

Abiah  Folger  began  to  spin  again,  and  the  wheel  and  the 
wind  united  did  indeed  make  a  lonely  atmosphere.  Uncle 
Benjamin  punched  the  fire,  which  roared  at  times  lustily 
under  the  great  shelf  where  were  a  row  of  pewter  platters. 

Little  Ben  drew  near  the  fire.  Suddenly  Uncle  Ben 
started. 

"  Oh,  my  eyes!  what  is  that,  Ben?  " 

Ben  looked  about. 

"  I  don't  see  anything,  uncle." 

''  Your  coat  sleeve  keeps  jumping.  I  have  seen  it  four 
or  five  times.  What  is  the  matter  there?  " 

Uncle  Ben  put  the  tongs  in  the  chimney  nook,  and  said: 

"  There  is  a  bunch  on  your  arm,  Ben." 

"  No,  no,  no,  uncle." 

"  There  is,  and  it  moves  about." 


LITTLE  BEN'S  GUINEA  PIG.  37 

"  I  have  no  wound,  or  boil,  nor  anything,  uncle." 

"  There  it  goes  again,  or  else  my  head  is  wrong.  There! 
there!  Abiah,  stop  spinning  a  minute  and  come  here." 

The  wheel  stopped.  Abiah,  with  a  troubled  look,  came 
to  the  hearth  and  leaned  over  it  with  one  hand  against  the 
shelf. 

"What  has  he  been  doing  now?"  she  asked  in  a  troubled 
tone. 

"  Look  at  his  arm  there!     It  bulges  out." 

Uncle  Ben  put  out  his  hand  to  touch  the  protrusion.  He 
laid  his  finger  on  the  place  carefully,  when  suddenly  the  bunch 
was  gone,  and  just  then  appeared  a  little  head  outside  the 
sleeve. 

"  I  told  you  that  there  was  something  there!  I  knew  that 
there  was  all  the  time." 

There  was — it  was  the  little  covey  or  guinea  pig. 

"What  did  I  tell  you  before  Ben  came  in?"  said  Uncle 
Benjamin. 

Little  Ben  did  not  know  what  his  uncle  had  said  to  his 
mother  before  he  opened  the  door;  but  he  heard  him  say 
now  mysteriously: 

"  It  is  a  cold  day  for  shelterless  things.  That  little  bunch 
on  his  arm  illustrates  what  I  mean  by  personality.  There  are 
more  guinea  pigs  than  one  in  this  cold  world." 

Abiah  went  to  her  wheel  in  silence,  and  it  began  to  buzz 
again. 

Little  Ben  went  into  the  room  where  his  father  was  at 
work. 

The  wheel  stopped. 
4 


38  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

"  I  do  love  that  boy,"  said  Abiah,  "  notwithstanding  all 
the  fault  they  find  with  him." 

"  So  do  1,  Abiah.  I'm  glad  that  you  made  him  my  god- 
son. All  people  are  common  in  this  world  except  those  who 
have  personality.  He  had  a  great-uncle  that  was  just  like  him, 
and,  Abiah,  he  became  a  friend  of  Lord  Halifax." 

"  I  am  afraid  that  poor  little  Ben,  after  all  his  care  of  the 
guinea  pig,  will  never  commend  himself  to  Lord  Halifax.  But 
we  can  not  tell." 

"  No,  Abiah,  we  can  not  tell,  but  stranger  things  have 
happened,  and  such  things  begin  in  that  way." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

UNCLE   TOM,   WHO    ROSE    IN   THE   WORLD. 

LITTLE  Ben  had  some  reasons  to  dread  the  visits  of  his  two 
stately  aunts  from  Nantucket,  the  schoolmarms,  whom  his 
mother  called  "  the  girls." 

But  one  November  day,  as  he  came  home  after  the  arrival 
of  the  stage  from  Salem,  he  was  met  at  the  door  by  his  uncle 
with  the  question: 

"  Who  do  you  think  has  come?  " 

"I  don't  know,  uncle.    Josiah?" 

"  No." 

"Brother  John  from  Rhode  Island?  Esther  and  Martha 
from  school?  Zachary  from  Annapolis?" 

"  Not  right  yet." 

"Esther  and  Martha  from  school  at  Nantucket?" 

"  Yes;  and  your  Aunt  Hannah  and  Aunt  Prudence  have 
come  with  them,  with  bandboxes,  caps,  snuffboxes,  and  all. 
They  came  on  the  sloop.  It  is  a  time  for  little  boys  to  be  quiet 
now,  and  to  keep  guinea  pigs  and  such  things  well  out  of 
sight." 

"  How  long  are  they  going  to  stay,  uncle?  " 

By  "  they  "  he  referred  to  his  aunts. 

"  A  week  or  more,  I  guess.  This  will  be  your  still  week." 

39 


40  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

"  But  I  can  not  keep  still,  uncle;  I  am  a  boy." 

Little  Benjamin  went  into  the  home  room  and  there  met 
his  stately  aunts,  the  school  teachers. 

There  was  a  great  fire  in  the  room,  and  the  pewter  platters 
shone  there  like  silver.  His  aunts  received  him  kindly,  but  in 
a  very  condescending  way.  They  had  not  yet  discovered 
any  "personality"  in  the  short,  little  boy  of  the  numerous 
family. 

The  aunts  delighted  in  imparting  moral  instruction,  and 
they  saw  in  little  Ben,  as  they  thought,  a  useful  opportunity 
for  such  culture. 

That  night  the  family,  with  the  aunts  from  Nantucket,  sat 
down  by  the  great  fire  under  the  shining  platters  to  hear 
Uncle  Benjamin  relate  a  marvelous  story.  Every  family  has 
one  wonder  story,  and.  this  was  the  one  wonder  story  of 
the  Franklin  side  of  the  family.  Uncle  Benjamin  wished 
the  two  "  aunts "  to  hear  this  story  "  on  his  side  of  the 
house." 

"  There  was  only  one  of  our  family  in  England  who  ever 
became  great,  and  that  was  my  Uncle  Thomas,"  he  began. 

"  Only  think  of  that,  little  Ben,"  said  Aunt  Hannah  Fol- 
ger,  "  only  one." 

"  Only  one,"  said  Aunt  Prudence  Folger,  "  and  may  you 
become  like  him." 

"  He  was  born  a  smith,  and  so  he  was  bred,  for  it  was  the 
custom  of  our  family  that  the  eldest  son  should  be  a  smith — 
a  Franklin." 

"  Sit  very  still,  my  little  boy,"  said  the  two  aunts,  "  and 
you  shall  be  told  what  happened.  He  was  a  smith." 


41 

"There  was  a  man  in  our  town,"  continued  Uncle  Ben, 
"  whose  name  was  Palmer,  and  he  became  an  esquire." 

"  Maybe  that  you  will  become  an  esquire,"  said  Aunt 
Esther  to  Ben. 

"  He  became  an  esquire,"  said  Aunt  Prudence.  "  Sit  very 
still,  and  you  shall  hear." 

"  This  man  liked  to  encourage  people;  he  used  to  say 
good  things  of  them  so  as  to  help  them  grow.  If  one  encour- 
age the  good  things  which  one  finds  in  people  it  helps  them. 
It  is  a  good  thing  to  say  good  words." 

"  If  you  do  not  say  too  many,"  said  Josiah  Franklin.  "  I 
sometimes  think  we  do  to  little  Ben." 

"  Well,  this  Esquire  Palmer  told  Uncle  Tom  one  day  that 
he  would  make  a  good  lawyer.  Tom  was  very  much  surprised, 
and  said,  '  I  am  poor;  if  I  had  any  one  to  help  me  I 
would  study  for  the  bar.'  '  I  will  help  you/  said  Esquire 
Palmer.  So  Uncle  Tom  dropped  the  hammer  and  went  to 
school." 

"  And  you  may  one  day  leave  the  candle  shop  and  go  to 
school,"  said  Aunt  Esther,  moralizing. 

"  I  hope  so,"  said  little  Ben  humbly. 

"  Not  but  that  the  candle  shop  is  a  very  useful  place,"  said 
the  other  aunt. 

"Uncle  Tom  read  law,  and  began  to  practice  it  in  the 
town  and  county  of  Northampton.  He  was  public-spirited, 
and  he  became  a  leader  in  all  the  enterprises  of  the  county,  and 
people  looked  up  to  him  as  a  great  man.  Everything  that  he 
touched  improved." 

"  Just  think  of  that,"  said  Aunt  Esther  to  Ben.    "  Every- 


42  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

thing  that  he  touched  improved.  That  is  the  way  to  make 
success  for  yourself — help  others." 

"  May  you  profit  by  his  example,  Ben,"  said  Aunt  Pru- 
dence, bobhing  her  cap  border. 

"  He  made  everything  better — the  church,  the  town,  the 
public  ways,  the  societies,  the  homes.  He  was  a  just  man,  and 
he  used  to  say  that  what  the  world  wanted  was  justice.  Every- 
body found  him  a  friend,  except  he  who  was  unjust.  And  at 
last  Lord  Halifax  saw  how  useful  he  had  become,  and  he 
honored  him  with  his  friendship.  When  he  died,  which  was 
some  fourteen  years  ago,  all  the  people  felt  that  they  had  lost 
a  friend." 

The  two  aunts  bowed  over  in  reverence  for  such  a  character. 
Aunt  Esther  did  more  than  this.  She  put  her  finger  slowly  and 
impressively  on  little  Ben's  arm,  and  said: 

"  It  may  be  that  you  will  grow  up  and  be  like  him." 

"  Or  like  Father  Folger,"  added  Aunt  Prudence,  who 
wished  to  remind  Uncle  Benjamin  that  the  Folgers  too  had 
a  family  history. 

Little  Ben  was  really  impressed  by  the  homely  story  which 
he  now  heard  a  second  time.  It  presented  a  looking-glass  to 
him,  and  he  saw  himself  in  it.  He  looked  up  to  his  Uncle 
Ben  with  an  earnest  face,  and  said: 

"  I  would  like  to  help  folks,  too;  why  can  I  not,  if  Uncle 
Tom  did?" 

"  A  very  proper  remark,"  said  Aunt  Esther. 

"  Very,"  said  Aunt  Prudence. 

"  Good  intentions  are  all  right,"  said  Josiah  Franklin. 
"  They  do  to  sail  away  with,  but  where  will  one  land  if  he  has 


UNCLE  TOM,   WHO  ROSE  IN  THE  WORLD.  43 

not  got  the  steering  gear?  That  is  a  good  story,  Brother  Ben. 
Encourage  little  Ben  here  all  you  can;  it  may  be  that  you 
might  have  become  a  man  like  Uncle  Tom  if  you  had  had 
some  esquire  to  encourage  you." 

The  aunts  sat  still  and  thought  of  this  suggestion. 

Then  Josiah  played  on  his  violin,  and  the  two  aunts  told 
tales  of  the  work  of  their  good  father  among  the  Indians  of 
Martha's  Vineyard  and  Nantucket. 

A  baby  lay  in  Abiah  Franklin's  arms  sleeping  while  these 
family  stories  were  related.  It  was  a  girl,  and  they  had 
named  her  Jane,  and  called  her  "  Jenny." 

Amid  the  story-telling  Jenny  awoke,  and  put  out  her  arms 
to  Ben. 

"  The  baby  takes  to  Ben,"  said  the  mother.  "  The  first 
person  that  she  seemed  to  notice  was  Ben,  and  she  can  hardly 
keep  her  little  eyes  off  of  him." 

Ben  took  little  Jenny  into  his  arms. 

As  Uncle  Benjamin  grew  older  the  library  of  pamphlets 
that  he  had  sold  and  on  whose  margins  he  had  written  the 
best  thoughts  of  his  life  haunted  him.  He  would  sometimes 
be  heard  to  exclaim: 

"  Those  pamphlets!  those  pamphlets!  " 

"  Why  do  you  think  so  much  of  the  lost  pamphlets, 
uncle? "  said  little  Ben. 

"Hoi,  Ben,  hoi!  'tis  on  your  account,  Ben.  I  want  you 
to  have  them,  Ben,  and  read  them  when  you  are  old;  and  I 
want  my  son  Samuel  to  have  them,  although  his  mind  does 
not  turn  to  philosophy  as  yours  does.  It  tore  my  heart  to 
part  with  them,  but  I  did  it  for  you.  One  must  save  or  be  a 


44-  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

slave.  You  see  what  it  is  to  be  poor.  But  it  is  all  right,  Ben, 
as  the  book  of  Job  tells  us;  all  things  that  happen  to  a  man 
with  good  intentions  are  for  his  best  good." 

It  was  Uncle  Benjamin's  purpose  to  mold  the  character  of 
his  little  godson.  He  had  the  Froebel  ideas,  although  he  lived 
before  the  time  of  the  great  apostle  of  soul  education. 

"  The  first  thing  for  a  boy  like  you,  Ben,  is  to  have  a  defi- 
nite purpose,  and  the  next  is  to  have  fixed  habits  to  carry 
forward  that  purpose,  to  make  life  automatic." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  automatic,  uncle?" 

"  Your  heart  beats  itself,  does  it  not  ?  You  do  not  make 
it  beat.  Your  muscles  do  their  work  without  any  thought  on 
your  part;  so  the  stomach  assimilates  its  food.  The  first  thing 
in  education,  more  than  cultivation  of  memory  or  reason,  is 
to  teach  one  to  do  right,  right  all  the  time,  because  it  is  just 
as  the  heart  beats  and  the  muscles  or  the  stomach  do  their 
work.  I  want  so  to  mold  you  that  justice  shall  be  the  law 
of  your  life — so  that  to  do  right  all  the  time  will  be  a  part  of 
your  nature.  This  is  the  first  principle  of  home  education." 

Little  Ben  only  in  part  comprehended  this  simple  phi- 
losophy. 

"  But,  uncle,"  said  he,  "  what  should  be  my  purpose  in 
life?" 

"  You  have  the  nature  of  your  great-uncle  Tom — you  love 
to  be  doing  things  to  help  others,  just  as  he  did.  The  purpose 
of  your  life  should  be  to  improve  things.  Genius  creates 
things,  but  benevolence  improves  things.  You  will  under- 
stand what  I  mean  some  day,  when  you  shall  grow  up  and  go 
to  England  and  hear  the  chimes  of  Northampton  ring." 


UNCLE  TOM,   WHO  ROSE  IN  THE  WORLD.  45 

Uncle  Benjamin  liked  to  take  little  Ben  out  to  sea.  They 
journeyed  so  far  that  they  sometimes  lost  sight  of  the  State 
House,  the  lions  and  unicorns,  and  the  window  from  which 
new  kings  and  royal  governors  had  been  proclaimed. 

These  excursions  were  the  times  that  Uncle  Ben  sought 
to  mold  the  will  of  little  Ben  after  the  purpose  that  he  saw 
in  him.  He  told  him  the  stories  of  life  that  educate  the  im- 
agination, that  help  to  make  fixed  habit. 

"  If  I  only  had  those  pamphlets,"  he  said  on  these  excur- 
sions, "  what  a  help  they  would  be  to  us!  You  will  never  for- 
get those  pamphlets,  will  you,  Ben?  " 


CHAPTEE  VIII. 

LITTLE    BEN    SHOWS    HIS    HANDWRITING    TO    THE    FAMILY. 

ME.  GEOEGE  BROWNELL  kept  a  writing  school,  and  little 
Ben  was  sent  to  him  to  learn  to  write  his  name  and  to  "  do 
sums." 

Franklin  did  indeed  learn  to  write  his  name — very  neatly 
and  with  the  customary  nourish.  In  this  respect  he  greatly 
pleased  the  genial  old  master. 

"  That  handwriting,"  he  said,  "  is  fit  to  put  before  a  king. 
Maybe  it  will  be  some  day,  who  knows?  But,  Ben,"  he  added, 
"  I  am  sorry  to  say  it,  although  you  write  your  name  so  well, 
you  are  a  dunce  at  doing  your  sums.  Now,  if  I  were  in  your 
place  I  would  make  up  for  that." 

In  picturing  these  encouraging  schooldays  in  after  years, 
Benjamin  Franklin  kindly  says  of  the  old  pedagogue:  "He 
was  a  skillful  master,  and  successful  in  his  profession,  em- 
ploying the  mildest  and  most  encouraging  methods.  Under 
him  I  learned  to  write  a  good  hand  pretty  soon,  but  he  could 
not  teach  me  arithmetic." 

One  afternoon,  toward  evening,  after  good  Master  Brownell 
had  encouraged  him  by  speaking  well  of  his  copy  book,  he 
came  home  with  a  light  heart.  He  found  his  Uncle  Benja- 

46 


LITTLE  BEN  SHOWS  HIS  HANDWKITING.  47 

min,  and  his  cousin,  Samuel  Franklin,  Uncle  Benjamin's  son, 
at  the  candle  shop. 

"Uncle  Benjamin,"  he  said,  "I  have  something  to  show 
you;  I  have  brought  home  my  copy  book.  Master  Brownell 
says  it  is  done  pretty  well,  but  that  I  ought  to  do  my  sums 
better,  and  that  I  *  must  make  up  for  that.' " 

"  He  is  right,  little  Ben.  We  have  to  try  to  make  up  for 
our  defects  all  our  lives.  Let  me  look  at  the  book.  Now  that 
is  what  I  call  right  good  writing." 

"Do  you  see  anything  peculiar  about  it?"  asked  Ben. 
"  Master  Brownell  said  that  it  was  good  enough  to  set  before 
a  king,  and  that  it  might  be,  some  day." 

Little  Ben's  big  brothers,  who  had  come  in,  laughed,  and 
slapped  their  hands  on  their  knees. 

Josiah  Franklin  left  his  tallow  boiling,  and  said: 

"  Let  me  see  it,  Ben." 

He  mounted  his  spectacles  and  held  up  the  copy  book, 
turning  his  eyes  upon  the  boy's  signature. 

"  That  flourish  to  your  name  does  look  curious.  It  is  all 
tied  up,  and  seems  to  come  to  a  conclusion,  as  though  your 
mind  had  carried  out  its  original  intention.  There  is  char- 
acter in  the  flourish.  Ben,  you  have  done  well.  But  you 
must  make  up  for  your  sums. — Brother  Ben,  that  is  a  good 
hand,  but  I  guess  the  sun  will  go  around  and  around  the 
world  many  times  before  kings  ever  set  their  eyes  on  it. 
But  it  will  tell  for  sure.  The  good  Book  says,  '  Seest 

thou  a  man  diligent  in  his  business Well,  you  all 

know  the  rest.  I  repeat  that  text  often,  so  that  my  boys 
can  hear." 


48  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

Samuel  Franklin,  Uncle  Ben's  son,  examined  the  copy 
book. 

"  Samuel,"  said  Uncle  Ben,  *  I  used  to  write  a  hand  some- 
thing like  that.  I  wish  that  I  had  my  pamphlets;  I  would 
show  you  my  hand  at  the  time  of  the  Eestoration.  I  used  to 
write  political  proverbs  in  my  pamphlets  in  that  way. 

"  I  want  you,"  he  continued,  "  to  honor  that  handwriting, 
and  do  your  master  credit.  The  master  has  tried  to  do  well 
by  you.  I  hope  that  handwriting  may  be  used  for  the  bene- 
fit of  others;  live  for  influences,  not  for  wealth  or  fame. 
My  life  will  not  fail  if  I  can  live  in  you  and  Samuel  here. 
Eemember  that  everything  that  you  do  for  others  will  send 
you  up  the  ladder  of  life,  and  I  will  go  with  you,  even  if  the 
daisies  do  then  blow  over  me. 

"  Ben,  you  and  Samuel  should  be  friends,  and,  if  you 
should  do  well  in  life,  and  he  should  do  the  same — which 
Heaven  grant  that  he  may! — I  want  you  sometimes  to  meet 
by  the  gate  post  and  think  of  me. 

"  If  you  are  ever  tempted  to  step  downward,  think  of  me, 
Ben;  think  of  me,  Samuel.  Meet  sometimes  at  the  gate  post, 
and  remember  all  these  things.  You  will  be  older  some  day, 
and  I  will  be  gone." 

The  old  man  held  up  the  copy  book  again. 

"  '  Fit  to  set  before  kings/  "  he  repeated.  "  That  was  a 
great  compliment." 

Little  Jane,  the  baby,  seeing  the  people  all  pleased,  held 
out  her  hands  to  Ben. 

"Jenny  shall  see  it,"  said  Ben.  He  took  the  copy  book 
and  held  it  up  before  her  eyes.  She  laughed  with  the  rest. 


LITTLE  BEN  SHOWS  HIS  HANDWRITING. 


49 


That  signature  was  to  remap  the  world.  It  was  to  be  set 
to  four  documents  that  changed  the  history  of  mankind. 
Header,  would  you  like  to  see  how  a  copy  of  it  looked?  We 
may  fancy  that  the  curious  flourish  first  saw  the  light  in  Mr. 
Brownell's  school. 


CHAPTEE   IX. 
UNCLE  BENJAMIN'S  SECRET. 

LITTLE  Ben  was  fond  of  making  toy  boats  and  ships  and 
sailing  them.  He  sometimes  took  them  to  the  pond  on  the 
Common,  and  sometimes  to  wharves  at  low  tide. 

One  day,  as  he  was  going  out  of  the  door  of  the  sign  of 
the  Blue  Ball,  boat  in  hand,  Uncle  Benjamin  followed  him. 

The  old  man  with  white  hair  watched  the  boy  fondly  day 
by  day,  and  he  found  in  him  many  new  things  that  made  him 
proud  to  have  him  bear  his  name. 

"  Ben,"  he  called  after  him,  "  may  I  go  too?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  Uncle  Benjamin.  I  am  going  down  beside 
Long  Wharf.  Let  us  take  Baby  Jane,  and  I  will  leave  the 
boat  behind.  The  baby  likes  to  go  out  with  us." 

The  old  man's  heart  was  glad  to  feel  the  heart  that  was 
in  the  voice. 

Little  Ben  took  Baby  Jane  from  his  mother's  arms,  and 
they  went  toward  the  sea,  where  were  small  crafts,  and  sat 
down  on  board  of  one  of  the  safety  anchored  boats.  It  was  a 
sunny  day,  with  a  light  breeze,  and  the  harbor  lay  before  them 
bright,  calm,  and  fair. 

"  Ben,  let  us  talk  together  a  little.  I  am  an  old  man;  I 
do  not  know  how  many  years  or  even  days  more  I  may  have 

50 


UNCLE  BENJAMIN'S  SECRET. 


UNCLE  BENJAMIN'S  SECRET.  51 

to  spend  with  you.  I  hope  many,  for  I  have  always  loved  to 
live,  and,  since  I  have  come  to  know  you  and  to  give  my  heart 
to  you,  life  is  dearer  to  me  than  ever.  I  have  a  secret  which 
I  wish  to  tell  you. 

"  Ben,  as  I  have  said;  I  have  found  in  you  personality.  You 
do  not  fully  know  what  that  means  now.  Think  of  it  fifty 
years  from  now,  then  you  will  know.  You  just  now  gave  up 
your  boat-sailing  for  me  and  the  baby.  You  like  to  help 
others  to  be  more  comfortable  and  happy,  and  that  is  the  way 
to  grow.  That  is  the  law  of  life,  and  the  purpose  of  life  is 
to  grow.  You  may  not  understand  what  I  mean  now;  think 
of  what  I  say  fifty  years  from  now. 

"  Ben,  I  have  faith  in  you.  I  want  that  you  should  always 
remember  me  as  one  who  saw  what  was  in  you  and  believed 
in  you." 

"  Is  that  the  secret  that  you  wanted  to  tell  me,  uncle?  " 
asked  little  Ben. 

"  No,  no,  no,  Ben;  I  am  a  poor  man  after  a  hard  life.  You 
do  pity  me,  don't  you?  Where  are  my  ten  children  now,  ex- 
cept one?  Go  ask  the  English  graveyard.  My  wife  is  gone.  I 
am  almost  alone  in  the  world.  All  bright  things  seemed  to  be 
going  out  in  my  life  when  you  came  into  it  bearing  my  name. 
I  like  to  tell  you  this  again  and  again.  Oh,  little  Ben,  you 
do  not  know  how  I  love  you!  To  be  with  you  is  to  be  happy. 

"  One  after  one  my  ten  children  went  away  to  their  long 
rest  where  the  English  violets  come  and  go.  Two  after  one 
they  went,  three  after  two,  and  four  after  three.  I  lost  my 
property,  and  Samuel  went  to  America,  and  I  was  told  that 
Brother  Josiah  had  named  you  for  me  and  made  me  your 


52  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

godfather.  Then,  as  there  was  nothing  but  graves  left  for 
me  in  old  England,  I  wished  to  come  to  America  too. 

"Ben,  Ben,  you  have  heard  all  this  before,  but,  listen,  I 
must  tell  you  more.  I  wanted  to  cross  the  ocean,  but  I  had  lit- 
tle money  for  such  a  removal,  and  I  used  to  walk  about  London 
with  empty  hands  and  wish  for  £100,  and  my  wishes  brought 
me  nothing  but  sorrow,  and  I  would  go  to  my  poor  lodgings 
and  weep.  Oh,  you  can  not  tell  how  I  used  to  feel! 

"  I  had  a  few  things  left — they  were  as  dear  to  me  as  my 
own  heart.  I  am  coming  to  the  secret  now,  Ben.  You  are 
asking  in  your  mind  what  those  things  were  that  I  sold;  they 
were  the  things  most  precious  of  all  to  me,  and  among  them 
were — were  my  pamphlets." 

The  old  man  bowed  over,  and  his  lip  quivered. 

"What  were  your  pamphlets,  uncle?  You  said  that  you 
would  explain  to  me  what  they  were." 

"  Ben,  there  are  some  things  that  we  come  to  possess  that 
are  a  part  of  ourselves.  Our  heart  goes  into  them — our  blood 
— our  life— our  hope.  It  was  so  with  my  pamphlets,  Ben. 
This  is  the  secret  I  have  to  tell. 

"I  loved  the  cause  of  the  Commonwealth — Cromwell's 
days.  In  the  last  days  of  the  Commonwealth,  when  I  had  but 
little  money  to  spare,  I  used  to  buy  pamphlets  on  the  times. 
When  I  had  read  a  pamphlet,  thoughts  would  come  to  me. 
I  did  not  seem  to  think  them;  they  came  to  me,  and  I  used  to 
note  these  thoughts  down  on  the  margins  of  the  leaves  in  the 
pamphlets.  Those  thoughts  were  more  to  me  than  anything 
that  I  ever  had  in  life." 

"I  would  have  felt  so  too,  uncle." 


UNCLE  BENJAMIN'S  SECRET.  53 

"  Years  passed,  and  I  had  a  little  library  of  pamphlets,  the 
margins  filled  with  my  own  thoughts.  Poetry  is  the  soul's 
vision,  and  I  wrote  my  poetry  on  those  pamphlets.  Ben,  oh, 
my  pamphlets!  my  pamphlets!  They  were  my  soul;  all  the 
best  of  me  went  into  them. 

"  Well,  Ben,  times  changed.  King  Charles  returned,  and 
the  Commonwealth  vanished,  but  I  still  added  to  my  pamphlets 
for  years  and  years.  Then  I  heard  of  you.  I  always  loved 
Brother  Josiah,  and  my  son  was  on  this  side  of  the  water,  and 
the  longing  grew  to  sail  for  America,  where  my  heart  then 
was,  as  I  have  told  you." 

"  I  see  how  you  felt,  uncle." 

"  I  dreamed  how  to  get  the  money;  I  prayed  for  the  money. 
One  day  a  London  bookseller  said  to  me:  '  You  have  been  col- 
lecting pamphlets.  Have  you  one  entitled  Human  Freedom'? 
I  answered  that  I  had,  but  that  it  was  covered  with  notes.  He 
asked  me  to  let  him  come  to  my  lodgings  and  read  it.  He 
came  and  looked  over  all  my  pamphlets,  and  told  me  that  a 
part  of  the  collection  had  become  rare  and  valuable;  that 
they  might  have  a  value  in  legal  cases  that  would  arise  owing 
to  the  change  in  the  times.  He  offered  to  buy  them.  I  refused 
to  sell  them,  on  account  of  what  I  had  written  on  the  margins 
of  the  leaves.  What  I  wrote  were  my  revelations.  . 

"  He  went  away.  Then  my  loneliness  increased,  and  my 
longing  to  come  to  America.  I  could  sell  my  valuables,  and 
among  them  the  pamphlets,  and  this  would  give  me  money 
wherewith  to  make  the  great  change." 

"You  sold  them,  uncle?" 

"  When  I  thought  of  Brother  Josiah,  I  was  tempted  to  do 


54:  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

it.  But  I  at  first  said  '  No.'  When  I  heard  that  my  son  was 
making  a  home  for  himself  here,  I  again  was  tempted  to  do  it. 
But  I  said,  '  No.'  I  could  not  sell  myself. 

"Then  there  came  a  letter  from  Brother  Josiah.  It  said: 
'  I  have  another  son.  We  have  named  him  Benjamin,  after 
you.  We  have  named  you  as  his  godfather.' 

"  Then  I  sat  down  on  the  side  of  the  bed  in  my  room,  and 
the  tears  fell. 

"  '  We  have  named  him  Benjamin  ' — how  those  words  went 
to  my  heart!  " 

"It  was  the  first  time  that  you  ever  heard  of  me,  wasn't 
it,  uncle  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes;  it  makes  me  happy  to  hear  you  say  that.  And 
you  will  never  forget  me,  will  you,  Ben?" 

"  Never,  uncle,  if  I  live  to  be  eighty  years  old!  But,  uncle, 
you  sold  the  pamphlets!  " 

"  Yes.  When  I  read  your  name  in  Josiah's  letter  I  felt 
a  weight  lifted  from  my  mind.  I  said  to  myself  that  I  would 
part  with  myself — that  is,  the  pamphlets — for  you." 

"  Did  you  sell  them  for  me,  uncle  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  sold  them  for  you,  Benjamin." 

"What  was  the  man's  name  that  brought  them,  uncle?" 

"  I  hoped  that  you  would  ask  me  that.  His  name  was 
Axel.  Eepeat  it,  Ben." 

"  Axel." 

"  It  is  a  hard  name  to  forget." 

"  I  shall  never  forget  it,  uncle." 

"  Ben,  you  may  go  to  London  sometime." 

"  We  are  all  poor  now." 


UNCLE  BENJAMIN'S  SECRET.  55 

"  But  you  have  personality,  and  people  who  look  out  for 
others  are  needed  by  others  for  many  things.  Maybe  they  will 
sometime  send  you  there." 

"Who,  uncle?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know.  But  if  ever  you  should  go  to  London, 
go  to  all  the  old  bookstores,  and  what  name  will  you  look  for?  " 

"  Axel,  uncle." 

"  Ben,  those  are  not  books;  they  are  myself.  I  sold  my- 
self when  I  sold  them — I  sold  myself  for  you.  Axel,  Ben, 
Axel." 

Little  Ben  repeated  "  Axel,"  and  wondered  if  he  would 
ever  see  London  or  meet  with  his  uncle  in  those  pamphlets 
which  the  latter  claimed  to  be  his  other  self. 

"  Axel,"  he  repeated,  pinching  Baby  Jane's  cheek.  Baby 
Jane  laughed  in  the  sunlight  on  the  blue  sea  when  she  saw 
the  excitement  in  Ben's  face. 

The  tide  was  coming  in,  the  boat  was  rocking,  and  Ben 
said: 

"  We  must  go  home  now,  for  Jenny's  sake." 


CHAPTER   X. 

THE    .STONE     WHARF,     AND     LADY     WIGGLEWORTH,     WHO     FELL 
ASLEEP    IN    CHURCH. 

DID  little  Ben's  trumpet  and  gun  indicate  that  he  would 
become  a  statesman  whose  cause  would  employ  armies?  We 
do  not  know.  The  free  will  of  a  boy  on  the  playground  is 
likely  to  present  a  picture  of  his  leading  traits  of  character. 
In  old  New  England  days  there  was  a  custom  of  testing  a 
child's  character  in  a  novel  way.  A  bottle,  a  coin,  and  a  Bible 
were  laid  on  the  floor  at  some  distance  apart  to  tempt  the  no- 
tice of  the  little  one  when  he  first  began  to  creep.  It  was 
supposed  that  the  one  of  the  three  objects  that  he  crept  toward 
and  seized  upon  was  prophetic  of  his  future  character — that 
the  three  objects  represented  worldly  pleasure,  the  seeking  for 
wealth,  and  the  spiritual  life. 

Franklin's  love  for  public  improvements  was  certainly  in- 
dicated in  his  early  years.  He  liked  the  water  and  boats,  and 
he  saw  how  convenient  a  little  wharf  near  his  house  would 
be;  so  he  planned  to  build  one,  and  laid  his  plans  before  his 
companions. 

"  We  will  build  it  of  stone,"  he  said.  "  There  are  plenty 
of  stones  near  the  wharf." 

56 


THE  STONE  WHARF,   AND  LADY  WIGGLEWORTH.      57 

"  But  the  workmen  there  would  not  let  us  have  them," 
said  a  companion. 

"  We  will  take  them  after  they  have  gone  from  their  work. 
We  can  build  the  wharf  in  a  single  evening.  The  workmen 
may  scold,  but  they  will  not  scold  the  stone  landing  out  of  the 
water  again." 

One  early  twilight  of  a  long  day  the  boys  assembled  at  the 
place  chosen  by  young  Franklin  for  his  wharf,  and  began  to 
work  like  beavers,  and  before  the  deep  shadows  of  night  they 
had  removed  the  stones  to  the  water  and  builded  quite  a  little 
wharf  or  landing. 

"  We  can  catch  minnows  and  sail  our  boats  from  here 
now,"  said  young  Franklin  as  he  looked  with  pride  on  the 
triumphs  of  his  plan.  "  All  the  boys  will  be  free  to  use 
this  landing,"  he  thought.  "  Won't  it  make  the  people 
wonder!  " 

It  did. 

The  next  morning  the  weather  door  of  the  thrifty  tallow 
chandler  opened  with  a  ring. 

"  Josiah  Franklin,  where  is  that  boy  of  yours?"  asked  a 
magistrate. 

The  paper  cap  bobbed  up,  and  the  man  at  the  molds  bent 
his  head  forward  with  wondering  eyes. 

"Which  boy?" 

"  Ben,  the  one  that  is  always  leading  other  boys  round." 

"  I  dunno.  He's  making  a  boat— or  was.— Benjamin!  "  he 
called;  "I  say,  Benjamin!" 

The  door  of  the  living  room  opened,  and  little  Ben  ap- 
peared. 


53  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

"  Here's  a  man  who  has  come  to  see  you.  What  have  you 
been  doing  now?  " 

"Boy,"  said  the  man — he  spoke  the  word  so  loudly  that 
the  little  boy  felt  that  it  raised  him  almost  to  the  dignity  of 
a  man. 

"What,  sir?"  gasped  Ben,  very  intelligent  as  to  what 
would  follow. 

"  Did  you  put  those  stones  into  the  water?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"What  did  you  do  that  for?" 

"  To  make  a  wharf,  sir." 

" '  To  make  a  wharf,  sir! '  Didn't  you  have  the  sense  to 
know  that  those  stones  were  building  stones  and  belonged  to 
the  workmen?  " 

"  No,  sir;  I  didn't  know  that  they  belonged  to  any  one. 
I  thought  that  they  belonged  to  everybody." 

"  You  did,  you  little  rascal !  Then  why  did  you  wait  to 
have  the  workmen  go  away  before  you  put  them  into  the 
water?  " 

"  The  workmen  would  have  hindered  us,  sir.  They  don't 
think  that  improvements  can  be  made  by  little  shavers  like 
us.  I  wanted  to  surprise  them,  sir — to  show  them  what  we 
could  do,  sir." 

"  Benjamin  Franklin,"  said  Josiah,  "  come  here,  and  I 
will  show  you  what  I  can  do. — Stranger,  the  boy's  godfather 
has  come  to  live  with  us  and  to  take  charge  of  him,  and  he 
does  need  a  godfather,  if  ever  a  stripling  did." 

Josiah  Franklin  laid  his  hand  on  the  boy,  and  the  work- 
man went  away.  The  father  removed  the  boy's  jacket,  and 


THE  STONE  WHARF,   AND  LADY  WIGGLEWORTH.      59 

showed  him  what  he  could  do,  the  memory  of  which  was  not  a 
short  one. 

"  I  did  not  mean  any  harm,  father,"  young  Benjamin  said 
over  and  over.  "  It  was  a  mistake." 

"My  boy,"  said  the  tallow  chandler,  softening,  "never 
make  a  second  mistake.  There  are  some  people  who  learn 
wisdom  from  their  first  mistakes  by  never  making  second 
mistakes.  May  you  be  one  of  them." 

"  I  shall  never  do  anything  that  I  don't  think  is  honest, 
father.  I  thought  stones  and  rocks  belonged  to  the  people." 

"  But  there  are  many  things  that  belong  to  the  people  in 
this  world  that  you  have  no  right  to  use,  my  son.  When 
you  want  to  make  any  more  public  improvements,  first  come 
and  talk  with  me  about  them,  or  go  to  your  Uncle  Ben, 
into  whose  charge  I  am  going  to  put  you — and  no  small  job  he 
will  have  of  it,  in  my  thinking!  " 

Benjamin  Franklin  said,  when  he  was  growing  old  and  was 
writing  his  own  life,  that  his  father  convinced  him  at  the  time 
of  this  event  that  "  that  which  is  not  honest  could  not  be 
useful." 

We  can  see  in  fancy  his  father  with  a  primitive  switch 
thus  convincing  him.  He  never  forgot  the  moral  lesson. 

Where  was  Jamie  the  Scotchman  during  this  convincing 
episode?  When  he  heard  that  the  little  wharf -builder,  burst- 
ing with  desire  for  public  improvement,  had  fallen  into  dis- 
grace, he  came  upon  him  slyly: 

"  So  you've  been  building  a  wharf  for  the  boys  of  the  town. 
When  one  begins  so  soon  in  life  to  improve  the  town,  there 
can  be  no  telling  what  he  will  do  when  he  grows  up.  Per- 


60  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

haps  you  will  become  one  of  the  great  benefactors  of  Boston 
yet.  Who  knows?  " 

"  We  can't  tell/'  said  the  future  projector  of  Franklin 
Park,  philosophically. 

"  No,  that  is  a  fact,  bubby.  Take  your  finger  out  of  your 
mouth  and  go  to  cutting  candle  wicks.  It  must  make  a  family 
proud  to  have  in  it  such  a  promising  one  as  you!  You'll  be 
apt  to  set  something  ablaze  some  day  if  you  keep  on  as  you've 
begun." 

He  did. 

Jamie  the  Scotchman  went  out,  causing  the  bell  on  the 
door  to  ring.  He  whistled  lustily  as  he  went  down  the  street. 

Little  Benjamin  sat  cutting  wicks  for  the  candle  molds 
and  wondering  at  the  ways  of  the  world.  He  had  not  intended 
to  do  wrong.  He  may  have  thought  that  the  stones,  although 
put  aside  by  the  workmen,  were  common  property.  He  had 
made  a  mistake.  But  how  are  mistakes  to  be  avoided  in  life? 
He  would  ask  his  Uncle  Benjamin,  the  poet,  when  he  should 
meet  him.  It  was  well,  indeed,  never  to  make  a  second  mis- 
take, but  better  not  to  make  any  mistake  at  all.  Uncle 
Benjamin  was  wise,  and  could  write  poetry.  He  would  ask 
him. 

Besides  Jamie  the  Scotchman,  who  spent  much  time  at  the 
Blue  Ball,  little  Benjamin's  brother  James  seems  to  have 
looked  upon  him  as  one  whose  activities  of  mind  were  too  ob- 
vious, and  needed  to  be  suppressed. 

The  evening  that  followed  the  disgrace  of  little  Ben  was 
a  serious  one  in  the  Franklin  family.  Uncle  Ben  had  "  gone 
to  meeting  "  in  the  Old  South  Church. 


THE  STONE  WHARF,   AND  LADY  WIGGLEWORTH.      Qi 

The  shop,  with  its  molded  candles,  dipped  candles,  ingot 
bars  of  soap,  pewter  molds,  and  kettles,  was  not  an  unpleasant 
place  in  the  evening,  and  old  sea  captains  used  to  drop  in  to 
talk  with  Josiah,  and  sometimes  the  leading  members  of  the 
Old  South  Church  came  to  discuss  church  affairs,  which  were 
really  town  affairs,  for  the  church  governed  the  town. 

On  this  particular  night  little  Ben  sat  in  the  corner  of  the 
shop  very  quietly,  holding  little  Jane  as  usual.  The  time  had 
come  for  a  perfect  calm  in  his  life,  and  he  himself  was  well 
aware  how  becoming  was  silence  in  his  case. 

Among  those  who  used  to  come  to  the  shop  evenings  to 
talk  with  Josiah  and  Uncle  Ben,  the  poet,  was  one  Captain 
Holmes.  He  came  to-night,  stamping  his  feet  at  the  door, 
causing  the  bell  to  ring  very  violently  and  the  faces  of  some 
of  the  Franklin  children  to  appear  in  the  window  framed 
over  the  shop  door.  How  comical  they  looked! 

"Where's  Ben  to-night?"  asked  Captain  Holmes. 

Little  Ben's  heart  thumped.  He  thought  the  captain 
meant  him. 

"  He's  gone  to  meetin',"  said  Josiah.  "  Come,  sit  down. 
Ben  will  be  at  home  early." 

Little  Ben's  heart  did  not  beat  so  fast  now. 

"Where's  that  boy  o'  yourn?"  asked  the  captain. 

Ben's  heart  began  to  beat  again. 

"  There,  in  the  corner,"  said  Josiah,  with  a  doubtful  look 
in  his  face. 

"  He'll  be  given  to  making  public  improvements  when  he 
grows  up,"  said  the  captain.  "  But  I  hope  that  he  will  not 
take  other  people's  property  to  do  it.  If  there  is  any  type 


62  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

of  man  for  whom  I  have  no  use  it  is  he  who  does  good  with 
what  belongs  to  others." 

The  door  between  the  shop  and  the  living  room  opened, 
and  the  grieved,  patient  face  of  Abiah  appeared. 

"Good  evening,  Captain  Holmes,"  said  Abiah.     "I  heard 
what  you  said — how  could  I  help  it? — and  it  hurt  me.     No. 
descendant  of  Peter  Eolger  will  ever  desire  to  use  other  peo- 
ple's property  for  his  own  advantage.    Ben  won't." 

"  That's  right,  my  good  woman,  stand  up  for  your  own. 
Every  drop  of  an  English  exile's  blood  is  better  than  its  weight 
in  gold." 

"  Ben  is  a  boy,"  said  Abiah.  "  If  he  makes  an  error,  it  will 
be  followed  by  a  contrite  heart." 

Little  Ben  could  hear  no  more.  He  flew,  as  it  were,  up 
to  the  garret  chamber  and  laid  down  on  the  trestle  bed.  A 
pet  squirrel  came  to  comfort  him  or  to  get  some  corn.  He 
folded  the  squirrel  in  his  bosom. 

Ting-a-ling!  It  was  Uncle  Ben,  the  poet,  whose  name  he 
had  disgraced.  He  could  endure  no  more;  he  began  to  sob, 
and  so  went  to  sleep,  his  little  squirrel  pitying  him,  perhaps. 

There  was  another  heart  that  pitied  the  boy.  It  was  Uncle 
Ben's.  Poor  Uncle  Ben!  He  sleeps  now  at  the  side  of  the 
Franklin  monument  in  the  Granary  burying  ground,  and  we 
like  to  cast  a  kindly  glance  that  way  as  we  pass  the  Park  Street 
Church  on  Tremont  Street,  on  the  west  side.  It  is  a  good  thing 
to  have  good  parents,  and  also  to  have  a  good  uncle  with  a 
poetic  mind  and  a  loving  heart. 

There  was  one  trait  in  little  Benjamin's  character  that 
Josiah  Eranklin  saw  with  his  keen  eye  to  business,  and  it  gave 


THE  STONE  WHARF,   AND  LADY  WIGGLEWORTH.      63 

him  hope.  He  was  diligent.  One  of  Josiah  Franklin's  favor- 
ite texts  of  Scripture  was,  "  Seest  thou  a  man  diligent  in  his 
business?  he  shall  stand  before  kings;  he  shall  not  stand  before 
mean  men."  This  text  he  used  to  often  repeat,  or  a  part  of  it, 
and  little  Ben  must  have  thought  that  it  applied  to  him.  Hints 
of  hope,  not  detraction,  build  a  boy. 

Jamie  the  Scotchman  had  little  expectation  that  puttering 
Ben  would  ever  "  stand  before  kings."  Not  he.  He  had  not 
that  kind  of  vision. 

"  Ah,  boy,  I  could  tell  you  a  whole  history  of  diligent  boys 
who  not  only  came  to  stand  before  kings,  but  who  overturned 
thrones;  and  he  who  discrowns  a  king  is  greater  than  a  king," 
said  he  one  day.  "  Think  what  you  might  become." 

"Maybe  I  will." 

"Will  what?" 

"  Be  some  one  in  the  world." 

"  Sorry  a  boy  you  would  make  to  '  stand  before  kings,'  and 
I  don't  think  you'll  ever  be  likely  to  take  off  the  crown  from 
anybody.  So  your  poor  old  father  might  as  well  leave  that  text 
out  of  the  Scriptures.  There  are  no  pebbles  in  your  sling  of 
life.  If  there  were,  wonders  would  never  cease.  You  are 
just  your  Uncle  Ben  over  again.  I'm  sorry  for  ye,  and  for 
all." 

Little  Ben  looked  sorry  too,  and  he  wondered  if  there 
really  were  in  the  text  something  prophetic  for  him,  or  if 
Jamie  the  Scotchman  were  the  true  seer.  But  many  poor 
boys  had  come  to  stand  before  kings,  and  some  such  boys  had 
left  tyrants  without  a  crown. 

Jamie  the  Scotchman  thought  that  he  had  the  gift  of 


64-  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

"  second  sight/'  as  a  consciousness  of  future  events  was  called, 
but  he  usually  saw  shadows.  He  liked  to  talk  to  himself,  walk- 
ing with  his  hands  behind  him. 

After  his  dire  prophecy  concerning  the  future  of  little  Ben 
he  walked  down  to  Long  Wharf  with  Uncle  Benjamin,  talking 
to  himself  for  the  latter  to  hear. 

"Ye  can't  always  tell,"  said  he;  "I  didn't  speak  out  of 
the  true  inward  spirit  when  I  said  those  things.  It  hurt  the 
little  shaver  to  tell  him  there  was  no  future  in  him;  I  could 
see  it  did.  The  boy  has  a  curious  way  of  saying  wise  things; 
such  words  fly  out  of  his  mouth  like  swallows  from  a  cave. 
If  I  were  to  take  up  a  dead  brand  in  the  blacksmith's  shop 
and  he  was  around,  as  he  commonly  is,  he  would  say,  '  The 
more  you  handle  a  burned  stick  the  smuttier  you  become '; 
or  if  I  were  to  pick  up  a  horseshoe  there,  and  say,  '  For  the 
want  of  a  nail  the  shoe  was  lost,'  he  would  answer,  '  And  for 
want  of  a  shoe  the  horse  was  lost.'  Then,  after  a  time,  he 
would  add,  '  For  want  of  a  horse  the  rider  was  lost,'  and  so 
on.  His  mind  works  in  that  way.  Maybe  he'll  become  a  phi- 
losopher. Philosophers  stand  before  kings.  I  now  have  the 
true  inner  sight  and  open  vision.  I  can  see  a  streak  of  light 
in  that  curious  gift  of  his.  But  blood  tells,  and  his  folks  on 
his  father's  side  were  blacksmiths  over  in  England,  and  phi- 
losophers don't  come  from  the  forge  more'n  eagles  do  from  the 
hen  yard. 

"  I  said  what  I  did  to  stimulate  him.  It  cut  the  little 
shaver  to  the  quick,  didn't  it?  Now  he  wouldn't  have  been  so 
cut  if  there  had  been  nothing  there.  The  Lord  forgive  me  if 
I  did  wrong! " 


THE  STONE  WHARF,   AND  LADY  WIGGLEWORTH.      65 

He  walked  down  the  wharf  to  the  end.  Beyond  lay  the 
blue  harbor  and  the  green  islands.  The  town  had  only  some 
ten  thousand  inhabitants  then,  but  several  great  ships  lay 
in  the  harbor  under  the  three  hills,  two  of  which  now  are 
gone. 

The  harbor  was  girded  with  oaks  and  pines.  Here  and 
there  a  giant  elm,  still  the  glory  of  New  England,  lifted  its 
bowery  top  like  a  cathedral  amid  towns  of  trees.  Sea  birds 
screamed  low  over  the  waters,  and  ospreys  wheeled  high  in 
the  air. 

Jamie  the  Scotchman  had  not  many  things  to  occupy  his 
thoughts,  so  he  sat  down  to  wonder  as  to  what  that  curi- 
ous Franklin  boy  might  become. 

A  new  thought  struck  him. 

"  He  has  French  blood  in  him — the  old  family  name  used 
to  be  Franklein,"  he  said  to  himself.  "Now  what  does  that 
signify?  French  blood  is  gentle;  it  likes  to  be  free.  I  don't 
see  that  it  might  not  be  a  good  thing  to  have;  the  French 
like  to  find  out  things  and  give  away  to  others  what  they 
discover." 

A  shell  fell  into  the  water  before  him  from  high  in  the 
air.  The  water  spouted  up,  causing  an  osprey  to  swoop  down, 
but  to  rise  again. 

Jamie  the  Scotchman  turned  his  head. 

"  You,  Ben  ?  You  follow  me  'round  everywhere.  What 
makes  ye,  when  I  treat  ye  so?  " 

"  If  a  boy  didn't  hope  for  anything  he  would  never  have 
the  heartache." 

"True,  true,  my  boy;  and  what  of  that?" 


66  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

"  I  would  rather  expect  something  and  have  the  heart- 
ache." 

"  No  one  ever  misses  his  expectations  who  looks  for  the 
heartache  in  this  world.  But  what  queer  turns  your  mind 
does  take,  and  what  curious  questions  you  do  ask!  Let  us 
return  to  the  Blue  Ball." 

They  did,  through  winding  streets,  one  or  more  of  which 
were  said  to  follow  the"  wanderings  of  William  Blackstone's 
cow  from  the  Common.  Boston  still  follows  the  same  inter- 
esting animal. 

There  were  windmills  on  the  hills  and  tidemills  near  the 
water.  There  was  a  ferryboat  between  Boston  and  Charles- 
town,  and  on  the  now  Chelsea  side  was  the  great  Rumney 
Marsh.  On  the  Common,  which  was  a  pasture,  was  a  branch- 
ing elm,  a  place  of  executions.  Near  it  was  a  pond  into  which 
had  been  cast  the  Wishing  Stone  around  which,  it  was  reported, 
that  if  one  went  three  times  at  night  and  repeated  the  Lord's 
Prayer  backward  at  each  circuit  one  might  have  whatever  he 
wished  for.  Near  the  pond  and  the  great  tree  were  the  Charles 
River  marshes.  Such  was  Boston  in  1715-'20. 

Little  Ben  went  to  the  South  Church  on  Sundays,  and  the 
tithingman  was  there.  The  latter  sat  in  the  gallery  among 
the  children  with  his  long  rod,  called  the  tithing  stick,  with 
which  he  used  to  touch  or  correct  any  boy  or  girl  who 
whispered  in  meeting,  who  fell  asleep,  or  who  misbehaved. 
Little  Ben  must  have  looked  from  the  family  pew  in  awe 
at  the  tithingman.  The  old-time  ministers  pictured  the 
Lord  himself  as  being  a  kind  of  a  tithingman,  sitting  up 
in  heaven  and  watching  out  for  the  unwary.  Good  Josiah 


THE  STONE  WHARF,   AND  LADY  WIGGLEWORTH.      67 

Franklin  governed  the  conduct  of  the  children  in  his  own 
pew.  You  may  be  sure  that  none  of  them  whispered  there  or 
fell  asleep  or  misbehaved. 

The  tithingman,  who  was  a  church  constable,  was  annually 
'  elected  to  keep  peace  and  order  in  the  church.  In  England 
he  collected  tithes,  or  a  tenth  part  of  the  parish  income,  which 
the  people  were  supposed,  after  the  Mosaic  command,  to  offer 
to  the  church.  He  sometimes  wore  a  peculiar  dress;  he 
was  usually  a  very  solemn-looking  man,  the  good  man  of 
whom  all  the  children,  and  some  of  the  old  women,  stood  in 
terror. 

A  crafty  man  was  the  tithingman  in  the  pursuit  of  his 
duties.  He  was  on  the  watch  all  the  time,  and,  as  suspicion 
breeds  suspicion,  so  the  children  were  on  the  watch  for  him. 
The  sermons  were  long,  the  hourglass  was  sometimes  twice 
turned  during  the  service,  and  the  children  often  kept  them- 
selves awake  by  looking  out  for  the  tithingman,  who  was  watch- 
ing out  for  them.  This  was  hardly  the  modern  idea  of  heart 
culture  and  spiritual  development,  but  the  old  Puritan  churches 
made  strong  men  who  faced  their  age  with  iron  purposes. 

We  said  that  the  tithingman  was  sometimes  a  terror  to 
old  women.  Why  was  he  so?  It  was  sweet  for  certain  good 
old  people  to  sleep  in  church,  and  his  duties  extended  to  all 
sleepers,  young  and  old.  But  he  did  not  smite  the  good  old 
ladies  with  a  stick.  In  some  churches,  possibly  in  this  one,  he 
carefully  tickled  their  noses  with  a  feather.  This  led  to  a 
gentle  awakening,  very  charitable  and  kindly. 

It  is  a  warm  summer  day.  Josiah  Franklin's  pew  is 
crowded,  and  little  Ben  has  gone  to  the  gallery  to  sit  among 


(58  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

the  boys.  Uncle  Ben,  the  poet,  is  there,  for  he  sees  that  the 
family  pew  is  full. 

How  can  little  Ben  help  whispering  now,  when  the  ven- 
erable poet  is  by  his  side  and  will  not  harshly  reprove  him, 
and  when  so  many  little  things  are  happening  that  tempt  him 
to  share  his  thoughts  with  his  amiable  godfather? 

But  he  restrained  himself  long  and  well. 

In  her  high-backed  pew,  provided  with  the  luxury  of  the 
cushion,  sat  fine  old  Lady  Wiggleworth,  all  in  silks,  satins,  and 
plumes.  Little  Ben,  looking  over  the  gallery  rail,  saw  that 
my  lady's  plumes  nodded,  and  he  gently  touched  Uncle  Ben 
and  pointed  down.  Suddenly  there  came  a  tap  of  the  tithing 
stick  on  his  head,  and  he  was  in  disgrace.  He  looked  very 
solemn  now;  so  did  Uncle  Ben.  It  was  a  solemn  time  after  one 
had  been  touched  by  the  tithing  rod. 

But  the  tithingman  had  seen  Lady  Wiggleworth's  nod- 
ding plumes.  Could  it  be  possible  that  this  woman,  who 
was  received  at  the  Province  House,  had  lost  her  moral  and 
physical  control? 

If  such  a  thing  had  happened,  he  must  yet  do  his  duty. 
He  would  have  done  that  had  the  queen  been  there.  The 
law  of  Heaven  makes  no  exception,  nor  did  he. 

He  tiptoed  down  the  stair  and  stood  before  the  old  lady's 
pew.  All  her  plumes  were  nodding,  something  like  the  picture 
of  a  far  ship  in  a  rolling  sea.  My  lady  was  asleep. 

The  tithingman's  heart  beat  high,  but  his  resolution  did 
not  falter.  If  it  had,  it  would  soon  have  been  restored,  for 
my  lady  began  to  snore. 

Gently,  very  gently,  the  tithingman  took  from  his  side 


THE  STONE   WHARF,   AND  LADY  WIGGLEWORTH.      69 

pocket  a  feather.  He  touched  with  it  gently,  very  gently,  a 
sensitive  part  of  the  oblivious  old  lady's  nose.  She  partly 
awoke  and  brushed  her  nose  with  her  hand.  But  her  head 
turned  to  the  other  side  of  her  shoulders,  and  she  relapsed  into 
slumber  again. 

The  sermon  was  still  beating  the  sounding-board,  and  a 
more  vigorous  duty  devolved  upon  the  tithingman. 

He  pushed  the  feather  up  niy  lady's  nose,  where  the  mem- 
brane was  more  sensitive  and  more  quickly  communicated 
with  the  brain.  He  did  this  vigorously  and  more  vigorously. 
It  was  an  obstinate  case. 

"  Scat! " 

The  tithingman  jumped.  My  lady  opened  her  eyes.  The 
sermon  was  still  beating  the  sounding-board,  but  she  was  not 
then  aware  that  she,  too,  had  spoken  in  meeting. 

There  were  some  queer  church  customs  in  the  days  of 
Boston  town. 


CHAPTER  XI. 


JEN;NTY  FKANKLIN,  the  "pet  and  beauty  of  the  family," 
Benjamin's  favorite  sister,  was  born  in  1712,  and  was  six  years 
younger  than  he. 

"  My  little  Jenny,"  said  Josiah,  "  has  the  Franklin  heart." 
Little  Ben  found  that  heart  in  her  baby  days,  and  it  was  true 
to  him  to  the  end. 

Uncle  Benjamin  had  entertained  such  large  hopes  of  the 
future  of  little  Ben  since  the  boy  first  sent  to  him  a  piece  of 
poetry  to  England,  that  he  wrote  of  him: 

"For  if  the  bud  bear  grain,  what  will  the  top?" 
and  again: 

"  When  flowers  are  beautiful  before  they're  blown, 
What  rarities  will  afterward  be  shown ! 
If  trees  good  fruit  un'noculated  bear, 
You  may  be  sure't  will  afterward  be  rare. 
If  fruits  are  sweet  before  they've  time  to  yellow, 
How  luscious  will  they  be  when  they  are  mellow ! " 

He  also  saw  great  promise  in  bright  little  Jenny,  who  had 
heart  full  of  sympathy  and  affection.  Jenny,  Ben,  and  Uncle 
Benjamin  became  one  in  heart  and  companionship. 

Beacon  Hill  was  a  lovely  spot  in  summer  in  old  Boston 
days.  Below  it  was  the  Common,  with  great  trees  and  wind- 

70 


JENNY.  Y! 

ing  ways.  It  commanded  a  view  of  the  wide  harbor  and  far 
blue  sea.  It  looked  over  a  curve  of  the  river  Charles,  and  the 
bright  shallow  inlet  or  pond,  where  the  Boston  and  Maine  depot 
now  stands,  that  was  tilled  up  from  the  earth  of  the  fine  old 
hillside.  The  latter  place  may  have  been  the  scene  of  Ben's 
bridge,  which  he  built  in  the  night  in  a  forbidden  way.  The 
place  is  not  certainly  known. 

Uncle  Benjamin,  one  Sunday  after  church,  took  Ben  and 
little  Jenny,  who  was  a  girl  then,  to  the  top  of  the  hill.  It 
was  a  showery  afternoon  in  summer — now  bright,  now  over- 
cast— and  all  the  birds  were  singing  on  the  Common  between 
the  showers. 

In  one  of  the  shining  hours  between  the  showers  they 
sat  down  under  an  ancient  forest  tree,  and  little  Jenny  rested 
her  arms  on  one  of  the  knees  of  Uncle  Benjamin,  and  Ben 
leaned  on  the  other.  The  old  man  looked  down  on  the  har- 
bor, which  was  full  of  ships,  and  said: 

"  I  wish  I  had  my  sermons  that  I  left  behind.  I  would 
read  one  of  them  to  you  now." 

"  I  would  rather  hear  you  talk,"  said  Ben,  with  conscien- 
tious frankness. 

"  So  would  I,"  said  Jenny,  who  thought  that  Ben  was  a 
philosopher  even  at  this  early  age,  and  who  echoed  nearly 
everything  that  he  said. 

"Look  over  the  harbor,"  said  the  old  man.  "There  are 
more  and  more  ships  coming  in  every  year.  This  is  going  to 
be  a  great  city,  and  America  will  become  a  great  country. 
Ben,  I  hope  there  will  never  be  any  wars  on  this  side  of  the 
water.  War  is  sloth's  maintainer,  and  the  shield  of  pride; 


Y2  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

it  makes  many  poor  and  few  rich,  and  fewer  wise.*  Ben,  this 
is  going  to  be  a  great  country,  and  I  want  you  to  be  true  to  the 
new  country." 

"  I  will  always  be  true  to  my  country,"  said  Ben. 

"  And  I  will  be  true  to  my  home,"  said  little  Jenny. 

"  So  you  will,  so  you  will,  my  darling  little  pet;  I  can  see 
that,"  said  Uncle  Benjamin. 

Ben  was  so  pleased  at  his  echo  that  he  put  his  arm  around 
his  sister's  neck  and  kissed  her  many  times. 

The  old  man's  heart  was  touched  at  the  scene.  lie  thought 
of  his  lost  children,  who  were  sleeping  under  the  cover  of  the 
violets  now. 

"  It  is  going  to  rain  again,"  he  said.  "  The  robins  are  all 
singing,  and  we  will  have  to  go  home.  But,  children,  I  want 
to  leave  a  lesson  in  your  minds.  Listen  to  Uncle  Ben, 
whose  heart  is  glad  to  see  you  so  loving  toward  each  other 
and  me. 

"  M ore  than  wealth,  more  than  fame,  more  than  anything,  is 
the  power  of  the  human  heart,  and  that  power  is  developed  by 
seeking  the  good  of  others.  Live  for  influences  that  multiply, 
and  for  the  things  that  live.  Now  what  did  I  say,  Ben?  "  , 

"  You  said  that  more  than  wealth,  more  than  fame, 
more  than  anything,  was  the  power  of  the  human  heart, 
and  that  that  power  was  developed  in  seeking  the  good  of 
others." 

"That's  right,  my  man. — Now,  Jenny,  what  did  I  say?" 

"  I  couldn't  repeat  all  those  big  words,  uncle." 

*  The  old  man's  own  words  to  Benjamin  on  war. 


JENNY.  73 

"  Well,  you  lovely  little  creeter,  you;  you  do  not  need  to 
repeat  it;  you  know  the  lesson  already;  it  was  born  in  you; 
you  have  the  Franklin  heart! " 

"  Beloved  Boston,"  Franklin  used  to  say  when  he  became 
old.  What  wonder,  when  it  was  associated  with  memories  like 
these! 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A   CHIME    OF    BELLS    IN    NOTTINGHAM. 

SOME  time  after  Uncle  Benjamin,  who  became  familiarly 
known  as  Uncle  Ben,  had  revealed  to  little  Ben  his  heart's 
secret,  and  how  that  he  had  for  his  sake  sold  his  library  of 
pamphlets,  which  was  his  other  self,  the  two  again  went  down 
to  the  wharves  to  see  the  ships  that  had  come  in. 

They  again  seated  themselves  in  an  anchored  boat. 

"  Ben,"  said  Uncle  Benjamin,  "  I  have  something  more  on 
my  mind.  I  did  not  tell  you  all  when  we  talked  here  before. 
You  will  never  forget  what  I  told  you — will  you  ?  " 

"  Never,  uncle,  if  I  live  to  be  old.  My  heart  will  always 
be  true  to  you." 

"  So  it  will,  so  it  will,  Ben.  So  it  will.  I  want  to  tell 
you  something  more  about  your  Great-uncle  Thomas.  You 
favor  him.  Did  any  one  ever  tell  you  that  the  people  used 
to  think  him  to  be  a  wizard  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  uncle.  You  yourself  said  that  once.  What  is  a 
wizard  ?  " 

"  It  is  a  man  who  can  do  strange  things,  no  one  can  tell 
how.  They  come  to  him." 

"  But  what  made  them  think  him  a  wizard?  " 

"  Oh,  people  used  to  be  ignorant  and  superstitious,  like 

74 


A  CHIME  OF  BELLS  IN  NOTTINGHAM.  f5 

Reuben  of  the  Mill,  your  father's  old  friend  and  mine.  There 
was  an  inn  called  the  World's  End,  at  Ecton,  near  an  old 
farm  and  forge.  The  people  used  to  gather  there  and  tell 
stories  about  witches  and  wizards  that  would  have  made  your 
flesh  creep,  and  left  you  afraid  to  go  to  bed,  even  with  a  guinea 
pig  in  your  room. 

;<  Your  Great-uncle  Thomas  was  always  inventing  things  to 
benefit  the  people.  At  last  he  invented  a  way  by  which  it  might 
rain  and  rain,  and  there  might  be  freshets  and  freshets,  and 
yet  their  meadows  would  not  be  overflown.  The  water  would 
all  run  off  from  the  meadows  like  rain  from  a  duck's  back.  He 
made  a  kind  of  drain  that  ran  sideways.  Now  the  pious 
Brownites  thought  that  this  was  flying  in  the  face  of  Provi- 
dence, and  people  began  to  talk  mysteriously  about  him  at 
the  World's  End. 

"  But  it  was  not  that  which  I  have  heavy  on  my  mind  or 
light  on  my  mind,  for  it  is  a  happy  thought.  There  are  not 
many  romantic  things  in  our  family  history.  The  Franklins 
were  men  of  the  farm,  forge,  and  fire.  But  there  was  one 
thing  in  our  history  that  was  poetry.  It  was  this — listen  now. 

"  What  was  the  name  of  that  man  to  whom  I  sold  the 
pamphlets?  "  he  asked  in  an  aside. 

"  Axel." 

"  That  is  right — always  remember  that  name — Axel. 

"  Now  listen  to  that  other  thing.  Your  uncle,  or  great- 
uncle  Thomas,  started  a  subscription  for  a  chime  of  bells. 
The  family  all  loved  music — that  is  what  makes  your  father 
play  the  violin.  Your  Great-uncle  Thomas  loved  music  in  the 
air.  You  may  be  able  to  buy  a  spinet  for  Jenny  some  day. 


76  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

"  Now  your  Great-uncle  Thomas's  soul  is,  as  it  were,  in  those 
chimes  of  Nottingham.  I  pray  that  you  may  go  to  England 
some  day  before  you  die  and  hear  the  chimes  of  Nottingham. 
You  will  hear  a  part  of  your  own  family's  soul,  my  boy.  It  is  the 
things  that,  men  do  that  live.  If  you  ever  find  the  pamphlets, 
which  are  myself — myself  that  is  gone — you  will  read  in  them 
my  thoughts  on  the  Toleration  Act,  and  on  Liberty,  and  on  the 
soul,  and  the  rights  of  man.  What  was  the  man's  name  ?  " 

"  Axel." 

"  Eight." 

Little  Jenny,  who  loved  to  follow  little  Ben,  had  come 
down  to  the  wharf  to  hear  "  Uncle  Benjamin  talk."  She  had 
joined  them  in  the  boat  on  the  sunny  water.  She  had  become 
deeply  interested  in  Uncle  Tom  and  the  chimes  of  Notting- 
ham. 

"  Uncle  Ben,"  she  asked,  "  was  Uncle  Tom  ever  laughed 
at?" 

"  Yes,  yes;  the  old  neighbors  who  would  hang  about  the 
smithy  used  to  laugh  at  him.  They  thought  him  visionary. 
Why  did  you  ask  me  that  ?  " 

"  What  makes  people  who  come  to  the  shop  laugh  at  Ben  ? 
It  hurts  me.  I  think  Ben  is  real  good.  He  is  good  to  me,  and 
I  am  always  going  to  be  good  to  him.  I  like  Ben  better  than 
almost  anybody." 

"  A  beneficent  purpose  is  at  first  ridiculed,"  said  L^ncle 
Benjamin. 

Little  Ben  seemed  to  comprehend  the  meaning  of  this 
principle,  but  the  "  big  words  "  were  lost  on  Jenny. 

"  He  whose  good  purpose  is  laughed  at,"  said  Uncle  Ben- 


A  CHIME  OF  BELLS  IN  NOTTINGHAM.  77 

jamin,  "  will  be  likely  to  live  to  laugh  at  those  who  laughed 
at  him  if  he  so  desired;  but,  hark!  a  generous  man  does  not 
laugh  at  any  one's  right  intentions.  Ben,  never  stop  to  an- 
^swer  back  when  they  laugh  at  you.  Life  is  too  short.  It  robs 
the  future  to  seek  revenge." 

Uncle  Benjamin  was  right. 

Did  little  Ben  heed  the  admonition  of  his  uncle  on  this 
bright  day  in  Boston,  to  follow  beneficence  with  a  ready  step, 
and  not  to  stop  to  "answer  back"?  Was  little  Jenny's  heart 
comforted  in  after  years  in  finding  Ben,  who  was  so  good  to 
her  now,  commended?  We  are  to  follow  a  family  history,  and 
we  shall  see. 

As  the  three  went  back  to  the  Blue  Ball,  Ben,  holding  his 
uncle  by  the  one  hand  and  Jane  by  the  other,  said: 

"  I  do  like  to  hear  Jane  speak  well  of  me,  and  stand  up 
for  me.  I  care  more  for  that  than  almost  any  other  thing." 

"  Well,  live  that  she  may  always  speak  well  of  you,"  said 
Uncle  Benjamin;  "  so  that  she  may  speak  well  of  you  when 
you  two  shall  meet  for  the  last  time." 

"  Uncle,"  said  Jenny,  "  why  do  you  always  have  some- 
thing solemn  to  say?  Ben  isn't  solemn,  is  he?  " 

"  No,  my  girl,  your  brother  Ben  is  a  very  lively  boy.  You 
will  have  to  hold  him  back  some  day,  I  fear." 

"  No,  no,  uncle,  I  shall  always  push  him  on.  He  likes  to 
go  ahead.  I  like  to  see  him  go — don't  you?" 


CHAPTEE  XIII. 

THE    ELDER    FRANKLIN'S    STORIES. 

PETER  FOLGER,  Quaker,  the  grandfather  of  Benjamin 
Franklin,  was  one  of  those  noblemen  of  Nature  whose  heart 
beat  for  humanity.  He  had  been  associated  in  the  work  of 
Thomas  Mayhew,  the  Indian  Apostle,  who  was  the  son  of 
Thomas  Mayhew,  Governor  of  Martha's  Vineyard.  The 
younger  Mayhew  gathered  an  Indian  church  of  some  hun- 
dred or  more  members,  and  the  Indians  so  much  loved  him 
that  they  remained  true  to  him  and  their  church  during 
Philip's  war. 

What  stories  Abiah  Franklin  could  have  told,  and  doubt- 
less did  tell,  of  her  old  home  at  Nantucket! — stories  of  the 
true  hearts  of  the  pioneers,  of  people  who  loved  others  more 
than  themselves,  and  not  like  the  sea-rovers  who  at  this  time 
were  making  material  for  the  Pirate's  Own  Book. 

Josiah,  too,  had  his  stories  of  Old  England  and  the  con- 
venticles, heroic  tales  of  the  beginning  of  the  long  struggle 
for  freedom  of  opinion.  Hard  and  rough  were  the  stories  of 
the  Commonwealth,  of  Cromwell,  Pym,  and  Sir  Henry  Vane, 
the  younger. 

There  was  one  very  pleasing  old  tale  that  haunted  Bos- 
ton at  this  time,  of  the  Hebrew  parable  order,  or  after  the 

78 


THE  ELDER  FRANKLIN'S  STORIES.  79 

manner  of  the  German  legend.  Such  stories  were  rare  in  those 
days  of  pirates,  Indians,  and  ghosts,  the  latter  of  whom  were 
supposed  to  make  their  homes  in  their  graves  and  to  come  forth 
in  their  graveclothes,  and  to  set  the  hearts  of  unquiet  souls  to 
beating,  and  like  feet  to  flying  with  electrical  swiftness  before 
the  days  of  electricity. 

Governor  Winthrop — the  same  who  got  lost  in  the  Mystic 
woods,  and  came  at  night  to  an  Indian  hut  in  a  tree  and 
climbed  into  it,  and  was  ordered  out  of  it  at  a  later  hour 
when  the  squaw  came  home — took  a  very  charitable  view  of 
life.  He  liked  to  reform  wrongdoers  by  changing  their  hearts. 
Out  of  his  large  love  for  every  one  came  this  story  of  old  Bos- 
ton days. 

We  will  listen  to  it  by  the  Franklin  fire  in  the  candle  shop.  It 
was  an  early  winter  tale,  and  it  will  be  a  good  warm  place  to 
hear  it  there. 

"  It  is  a  cold  night,"  said  Josiah,  "  and  Heaven  pity  those 
without  fuel  on  a  night  like  this!  There  are  not  overmany 
like  Governor  Winthrop  in  the  world." 

Abiah  drew  her  chair  up  nearer  to  the  great  fire,  for  it 
made  one  chilly  to  hear  the  beginning  of  that  story,  but  the 
end  of  it  made  the  heart  warm. 

"  It  was  in  the  early  days  of  the  colony,"  said  Josiah,  "  and 
the  woods  in  the  winter  were  bare,  and  the  fields  were  cold. 
There  was  a  lack  of  wood  on  the  Mystic  near  the  town. 

"  A  poor  man  lived  there  on  the  salt  marsh  with  his  family. 
He  had  had  a  hard  time  to  raise  enough  for  their  support.  A 
snowstorm  came,  and  his  fuel  was  spent,  his  hearth  was  cold, 
and  there  was  nothing  to  burn. 


80  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

"  The  great  house  of  the  Governor  rose  over  the  ice-bor- 
dered marshes.  Near  it  were  long  sheds,  and  under  them 
high  piles  of  wood  brought  from  the  hills. 

"  The  poor  man  had  no  wood,  but  after  a  little  time  smoke 
was  seen  coming  out  of  his  chimney. 

"There  came  one  day  a  man  to  the  Governor,  and  said: 

"  Pardon  me,  Governor,  I  am  loath  in  my  heart  to  accuse 
any  one,  but  in  the  interest  of  justice  I  have  something  which 
I  must  tell  you.' 

"  '  Speak  on,  neighbor.' 

"  '  Some  one  has  been  stealing  your  wood.' 

"  '  It  is  a  hard  winter  for  the  poor.    Who  has  done  this? ' 

"  '  The  man  who  lives  on  the  marsh.' 

" '  His  crop  was  not  large  this  year.' 

"  '  No,  it  failed.' 

" '  He  has  a  wife  and  children.' 

"  '  True,  Governor.' 

"  '  He  has  always  borne  a  good  reputation.' 

" '  True,  Governor,  and  that  makes  the  case  more  diffi- 
cult.' 

" '  Neighbor,  don't  speak  of  this  thing  to  others,  but  send 
that  man  to  me.' 

"  The  man  on  the  marsh  came  to  the  Governor's.  His 
face  was  as  white  as  snow.  How  he  had  suffered! 

"  '  Neighbor,'  said  the  Governor,  '  this  is  a  cold  winter.' 

"  '  It  is,  your  Honor.' 

"  '  I  hope  that  your  family  are  comfortable.' 

" '  No,  your  Honor;  they  have  sometimes  gone  to  bed  sup- 
perless  and  cold.' 


THE  ELDER  FRANKLIN'S  STORIES.  gl 

"'It  hurts  my  conscience  to  know  that.  Have  you  any 
fuel?' 

"  '  None,  your  Honor.  My  children  have  kept  their  bed  for 
warmth.' 

" '  But  I  have  a  good  woodpile.  See  the  shed:  there  is 
more  wood  there  than  I  can  burn.  I  ought  not  to  sit  down  by 
a  comfortable  fire  night  after  night,  while  my  neighbor's 
family  is  cold.' 

" '  I  am  glad  that  you  are  so  well  provided  for,  for  you  are 
a  good  man,  and  have  a  heart  to  feel  for  those  in  need.' 

"'Neighbor,  there  is  my  woodpile.  It  is  yours  as  well 
as  mine.  I  would  not  feel  warm  if  I  were  to  sit  down  by  my 
fire  and  remember  that  you  and  your  wife  and  your  children 
were  cold.  When  you  need  any  fuel,  come  to  my  woodpile  and 
take  all  the  wood  that  you  want.' 

"  The  man  on  the  marsh  went  away,  his  head  hanging 
down.  I  believe  that  there  came  into  his  heart  the  power- 
ful resolution  that  he  would  never  steal  again,  and  we  have 
no  record  that  he  ever  did.  The  Governor's  hope  for  him  had 
made  him  another  man. 

"  He  came  for  the  wood  in  his  necessity  one  day.  The 
Governor  looked  at  him  pleasantly. 

" '  Why  did  you  not  come  to  me  before? ' } 

Josiah  Franklin  looked  around  on  the  group  at  the  fire- 
side, and  opened  the  family  Bible. 

"Do  you  think  that  the  Governor  did  right,  Brother 
Ben?" 

"  Well,  it  isn't  altogether  clear  to  me." 

"  What  do  you  think,  Abiah?  " 


82  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

"  Father  would  have  done  as  he  did.  He  hindered  no  one, 
but  helped  every  one.  He  saw  life  on  that  side." 

"Well,  little  Ben,  what  have  you  to  say?" 

"  The  Governor  looked  upon  the  heart,  didn't  he?  He  felt 
for  the  man.  Would  it  not  be  better  for  all  to  look  that  way? 
The  worth  of  life  depends  upon  those  we  help,  lift,  and  make, 
not  in  those  we  destroy.  I  like  the  old  Governor,  I  do,  and 
I  am  sorry  that  there  are  not  many  more  like  him.  That 
seems  like  a  Luke  story,  father.  Read  a  story  from  Luke." 

Josiah  read  a  story  from  Luke. 

There  followed  a  long  prayer,  as  usual.  Then  the  children 
kissed  their  mother  and  Jenny  and  crept  up  to  their  chamber. 
The  nine-o'clock  bell  had  rung,  and  the  ^streets  were  still. 
The  watchman  with  his  lantern  went  by,  saying,  "  Nine  o'clock, 
and  all  is  well!  "  None  of  the  family  heard  him  say,  "Ten 
o'clock,  and  all  is  well! "  They  were  in  slumberland  after 
their  hard,  homely  toil,  and  some  of  them  may  have  been 
dreaming  of  the  good  old  Governor,  who  followed  literally 
the  words  of  the  Master  who  taught  on  the  Mount  of  Beati- 
tudes. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE    TREASURE-FINDER. 

LITTLE  Benjamin  once  had  the  boy  fever  to  go  to  sea. 
This  fever  was  a  kind  of  nervous  epidemic  among  the  boys 
of  the  time,  a  disease  of  the  imagination  as  it  were.  Many 
boys  had  it  in  Boston;  they  disappeared,  and  the  town  crier 
called  out  something  like  this: 

"Hear  ye! 
Hear  ye! 

Boy  lost — lost — lost! 
Who  returns  him  will  be  rewarded." 
He  rang  the  bell  as  he  cried.     The  crier's  was  the  first  bell 
that  was  rung  in  Boston. 

But  why  did  boys  have  this  peculiar  fever  in  Boston 
and  other  New  England  towns  at  this  time?  It  was  largely 
owing  to  the  stories  that  were  told  them.  Few  things  affect 
the  imagination  of  a  boy  like  a  story.  De  Foe's  Eobinson 
Crusoe  was  the  live  story  of  the  times.  Sindbad  the  sailor  was 
not  unknown. 

Old  sailors  used  to  meet  by  the  Town  Pump  and  spin  won- 
derful "  yarns,"  as  story-telling  of  the  sea  was  then  described. 
But  there  was  one  house  in  Boston  that  in  itself  was  a 
story.     It  was  made  of  brick,  and  rose  over  the  town,  at  the 

83 


84:  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

North  End,  in  the  "  Faire  Green  Lane,"  now  decaying  Chatham 
Street.  In  it  lived  Sir  William  Phips,  or  Phipps,  the  first 
provincial  Governor  under  the  charter  which  he  himself  had 
brought  from  England. 

Sir  William  had  been  born  poor,  in  Maine,  and  had  made 
his  great  fortune  by  an  adventure  on  the  sea. 

The  story  of  Sindbad  the  Sailor  was  hardly  more  than  a 
match  for  his,  with  its  realities. 

He  was  one  of  a  family  of  twenty-six  children;  he  had  been 
taught  to  read  and  write  when  nearly  grown  up;  had  come  to 
Boston  as  an  adventurer,  and  had  found  a  friend  in  a  comely 
and  sympathetic  widow,  who  helped  to  educate  him,  and  to 
whom  he  used  to  say: 

"  All  in  good  time  we  will  come  to  live  in  the  brick  house 
in  the  Faire  Green  Lane." 

A  Boston  boy  like  young  Franklin,  among  the  pots  and 
kettles  of  life,  could  not  help  recalling  what  this  poor  sailor 
lad  had  done  for  himself  when  he  saw  the  brick  house  loom- 
ing over  the  bowery  lane. 

The  candle  shop  at  the  Blue  Ball,  that  general  place  for 
story-telling  by  winter  fires,  when  it  was  warm  there  and 
the  winds  were  cold  outside,  often  heard  this  story?*  and  such 
stories  as  'the  Winthrop  Silver  Cup,  which  may  still  be  seen; 
of  lively  Anne  Pollard,  who  was  the  first  to  leap  on  shore 
here  from  the  first  boat  load  of  pioneers  as  it  came  near  the 
shore  at  the  North  End,  when  the  hills  were  covered  with 
blueberries;  of  old  "  sea  dogs "  and  wonderful  ships,  like 
Sir  Francis  Drake  and  the  Golden  Hynde,  or  "  Sir  Francis 
and  his  shipload  of  gold,"  which  ship  returned  to  England  one 


THE  TREASURE-FINDER.  85 

day  with  chests  of  gold,  but  not  with  Sir  Francis,  whose  body 
had  been  left  in  many  fathoms  of  sea!  Ben  listened  to  these 
tales  with  wonder,  with  Jenny  by  his  side,  leaning  on  him. 

What  was  the  story  of  Sir  William  Phipps,  that  so  haunted 
the  minds  of  Boston  boys  and  caused  their  pulses  to  beat 
and  the  sea  fever  to  rise? 

It  was  known  in  England  as  well  as  in  America;  it  was  a 
wonder  tale  over  the  sea,  for  it  was  associated  with  titled 
names.  Uncle  Ben  knew  it  well,  and  told  it  picturesquely, 
with  much  moralizing. 

Let  us  suppose  it  to  be  a  cold  winter's  night,  when  the 
winds  are  abroad  and  the  clouds  fly  over  the  moon.  Josiah 
Franklin  has  played  his  violin,  the  family  have  sung  "  Mar- 
tyrs ";  the  fire  is  falling  down,  and  "  people  are  going  to  meet- 
in',"  as  a  running  of  sparks  among  the  soot  was  called,  when 
such  a  thing  happened  in  the  back  of  the  chimney. 

Little  Ben's  imagination  is  hungry,  and  he  asks  for  the 
twice-told  tale  of  Sir  William.  He  would  be  another  Sir  Wil- 
liam himself  some  day. 

By  the  dying  coals  Uncle  Ben  tells  the  story.  What  a 
story  it  was!  No  wonder  that  it  made  an  inexperienced  boy 
want  to  go  to  sea,  and  especially  such  boys  as  led  an  unevent- 
ful life  in  the  ropewalk  or  in  the  candle  shop! 

Uncle  Ben  first  told  the  incident  of  Sir  William's  promise 
to  the  widow  who  took  him  to  her  home  when  he  was  poor, 
that  she  should  live  in  the  brick  house;  and  then  he  pictured 
the  young  sailor's  wonderful  voyages  to  fulfill  this  promise. 
He  called  the  sailor  the  "  Treasure-finder." 

Let  us  snuggle  down  by  the  fire  on  this  cold  night  in  Bos- 


86  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

ton  town,  beside  little  Ben  and  Jenny,  and  listen  to  the 
story. 

Uncle  Ben,  mayhap,  shakes  his  snuffbox,  and  says: 

"  That  boy  dreamed  dreams  in  the  daytime,  but  he  was  an 
honest  man."  Uncle  Ben  rang  these  words  like  a  bell  in  his 
story. 

"  He  was  an  honest  man;  but  a  man  in  this  world  must 
save  or  be  a  slave,  and  young  William's  mind  went  sailing  far 
away  from  the  New  England  coast,  and  a-sailing  went  he.  What 
did  he  find?  Wonders!  Listen,  and  I  will  tell  you. 

"  William  Phips,  or  Phipps,  went  to  the  Spanish  Main, 
and  he  began  to  hear  a  very  marvelous  story  there.  The 
sailors  loitering  in  the  ports  loved  to  tell  the  legend  of  a  cer- 
tain Spanish  treasure  ship  that  had  gone  down  in  a  storm, 
and  they  imagined  themselves  finding  it  and  becoming  rich. 
The  legend  seized  upon  the  fancy  of  William  the  sailor  and 
entered  his  dreams.  It  was  only  a  vague  fancy  at  first,  but  in 
the  twilight  of  one  burning  day  a  cool  island  of  palms  ap- 
peared, and  as  it  faded  away  a  sailor  who  stood  waching  it 
said  to  him: 

" '  There  is  a  sunken  reef  off  this  coast  somewhere;  we 
are  steering  for  it,  and  I  have  been  told  that  it  was  on  that 
reef  that  the  Spanish  treasure  ship  went  down.  They  say  that 
ship  had  millions  of  gold  on  board.  I  wonder  if  anybody  will 
ever  find  her? ' 

"  William,  the  sailor,  started.  Why  might  not  he  find  her? 
— William  was  an  honest  man. 

"  It  was  early  evening  at  sea.  The  shadows  of  night  fell  on 
the  Bahama  Islands.  The  sea  and  the  heavens  seemed  to 


THE  TREASURE.-FINDER.  37 

mingle.  The  stars  were  in  the  water;  the  heavens  were  there. 
A  stranger  on  the  planet  could  not  have  told  which  was  the 
sea  and  which  was  the  sky. 

:<  The  sails  were  limp.  There  was  a  silence  around.  The 
ship  seemed  to  move  through  some  region  of  space.  William 
Phipps  sat  by  himself  on  the  deck  and  dreamed.  Many  people 
dream,  but  it  is  of  no  use  to  dream  unless  you  do. 

"  He  seemed  to  see  her  again  who  had  been  the  good  angel 
of  his  life;  he  saw  the  gabled  house  in  the  bowery  lane,  and 

two  faces  looking  out  of  the  same  window  over  Boston  town. 

William  was  honest. 

"  He  dreamed  that  he  himself  was  the  captain  of  a  ship. 
He  saw  himself  in  England,  in  the  presence  of  the  king.  He 
is  master  of  an  expedition  now,  in  his  sea  dream.  He  finds  the 
sunken  treasure  ship.  He  is  made  rich  by  it,  and  he  returns 
to  Boston  and  buys  the  gabled  house  in  the  cool  green  lane 
by  the  sea.  An  honest  man  was  Sir  William.  He  was  not 
Sir  William  then. 

"  He  returned  to  Boston  with  his  dream.  William  stayed 
in  port  for  a  time,  and  then  prepared  for  a  long  voyage;  but 
before  he  went  away  he  obtained  a  promise  from  the  widow 
that  if  she  ever  married  any  one  it  should  be  himself.  There 
was  nothing  wrong  in  that. 

"  The  ship  owners  saw  that  he  had  honor,  and  that  they 
could  trust  him.  He  was  advanced  in  the  service,  and  he 
learned  how  to  command  a  ship. 

"  He  returned  and  married  the  widow,  and  went  forth 
again  to  try  to  reap  the  harvest  of  the  sea  for  her,  carrying 
with  him  his  dreams. — He  was  an  honest  man. 


88  TKUB  TO  HIS  HOME. 

"William  Phipps,  the  sailor,  heard  more  and  more  in  re- 
gard to  the  sunken  treasure  ship,  and  he  went  to  England 
and  applied  to  the  king  for  ships  and  men  to  go  in  search 
of  this  mine  of  gold  in  the  sea. 

"  Gold  was  then  the  royal  want,  and  King  James's  heart 
was  made  right  glad  to  hear  the  bold  adventurer's  story.  The 
king  put  at  his  command  ships  and  men,  and  young  William 
Phipps — now  Commander  Phipps — went  to  the  white  reef  in 
the  blue  Bahama  Sea  and  searched  the  long  sea  wall  for  treas- 
ures faithfully,  but  in  vain.  He  was  compelled  to  return  to 
England  as  empty-handed  as  when  he  went  out. 

"  He  heard  of  the  great  admiral,  the  Duke  of  Albemarle, 
and  was  introduced  to  him  by  William  Penn.  The  duke 
heard  his  story,  and  furnished  him  with  the  means  to  con- 
tinue the  search  for  the  golden  ship  in  the  coral  reef. 

"  Ideals  change  into  realities  and  will  is  way.  Commander 
William  bethought  him  of  a  new  plan  of  gaining  the  needed 
intelligence.  Might  not  some  very  old  person  know  the  place 
where  the  ship  was  wrecked?  The  thought  was  light.  He 
found  an  old  Indian  on  a  near  island  who  remembered  the 
wreck,  and  who  said  he  could  pilot  him  to  the  very  spot  where 
the  ship  had  gone  down. 

"  Captain  William's  heart  was  light  again.  With  the  In- 
dian on  board  he  drifted  to  the  rippling  waters  over  the 
reef. 

"  Below  was  a  coral  world  in  a  sea  as  clear  as  the  sky. 
Out  of  it  flying-fish  leaped,  and  through  it  dolphins  swam  in 
pairs,  and  over  it  sargasso  drifted  like  cloud  shadows. 

"  Captain  William  looked  down.     Was  it  over  these  placid 


THE  TREASURE-FINDER. 


89 


waters  that  the  storm  had  made  wreckage  many  years  ago? 
Was  it  here  that  the  exultant  Spanish  sailors  had  felt  the  shock 
that  turned  joy  into  terror,  and  sent  the  ship  reeling  down, 
with  the  spoils  of  Indian  caciques,  or  of  Incarial  temples,  or 
of  Andean  treasures? 

"  The  old  Indian  pointed  to  a  sunken,  ribhed  wall  in  the 
clear  sea.  The  hearts  of  the  sailors  thrilled  as  they  stood 
there  under  the  fiery  noonday  sky. 

"Down  went  the  divers — down! 

"  Up  came  one  presently  with  the  news — '  The  wreck  is 
there;  we  have  found  it! ' 

"  '  Search! '  cried  Captain  William,  with  a  glad  wife  and  a 
gable  house  in  Boston  town  before  his  eyes.  '  Down! ' 

"  Another  diver  came  up  bringing  a  bag.  It  looked  like  a 
salt  bag. 

"  An  officer  took  an  axe  and  severed  the  bag.  The  salt 
flew;  the  sailors  threw  up  their  hands  with  a  cry — out  of  the 
bag  poured  a  glittering  stream  of  gold! 

"  Captain  William  reeled.  His  visions  were  now  taking 
solid  forms;  they  had  created  for  him  a  new  world. 

"'Down!   down!'  he  commanded. 

"  They  broke  open  a  bag  which  was  like  a  crystal  sack.  It 
was  full  of  treasure,  and  in  its  folds  was  a  goblet  of  gold. 

"  They  shouted  over  the  treasure  and  held  up  the  golden  cup 
to  the  balmy  air.  It  had  doubtless  belonged  to  a  Spanish 
don. 

"  More  salt  bags  of  gold!  The  deck  was  covered  with  gold! 
It  is  related  that  one  of  the  officers  of  the  ship  went  mad  at 
the  sight.  But  Captain  William  did  not  go  mad  as  he  sur- 


90  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

veyed  the  work  of  the  men  in  the  vanishing  twilight.  He  had 
been  there  in  spirit  before;  he  had  expected  something,  and 
he  was  on  familiar  ground  when  he  had  found  it.  He  had 
been  a  prophetic  soul. 

"  He  carried  home  the  treasure  to  England,  and,  soul  of 
honor  that  he  was,  he  delivered  every  dollar's  worth  of  it  to 
the  duke.  His  name  filled  England;  and  his  honesty  was  a 
national  surprise,  though  why  it  should  have  been  we  can  not 
say.  But  didn't  I  tell  you  he  was  an  honest  man? 

"  The  duke  was  made  happy,  and  began  to  cast  about  how 
to  bestow  upon  him  a  fitting  reward. 

"  '  What  can  I  do  for  you?  '  asked  his  Highness. 

"  I  have  a  wife  in  Boston  town,  over  the  sea.  She  is 
a  good  woman.  Her  faith  in  me  made  me  all  I  am.  She 
is  the  world  to  me,  for  she  believed  in  me  when  no  one  else 
did.' 

"  '  You  are  a  fortunate  man.  We  will  send  her  the  goblet 
of  gold,  and  it  shall  be  called  the  Albemarle  Cup.' 

"  The  imagination  of  Captain  William  Phipps  must  have 
kindled  and  glowed  as  he  received  the  '  dead  don's  cup,'  which 
in  itself  was  a  fortune. 

"  '  And  to  you,  for  your  honor  and  honesty,  shall  be  given 
an  ample  fortune,  and  there  shall  be  bestowed  upon  you  the 
honor  of  knighthood.  You  shall  be  able  to  present  to  your 
good  wife,  whose  faith  has  been  so  well  bestowed,  the  Albemarle 
Cup,  in  the  name  of  the  Duke  of  Albemarle  and  of  Sir  Wil- 
liam Phipps! ' 

"  Captain  William  Phipps  returned  to  Boston  a  baronet, 
with  the  Albemarle  Cup.  The  widow  that  he  had  won  was 


THE  TREASURE-FINDER.  91 

Lady  Phipps.  New  England  never  had  a  wonder  tale  like 
that. 

"  The  Albemarle  Cup!  The  fame  of  it  filled  Boston  town. 
There  it  stood  in  massive  gold,  in  Lady  Phipps's  simple  parlor, 
among  humbler  decorations.  How  strange  it  looked  to  her  as 
she  saw  it!  Then  must  have  arisen  before  her  the  boy  from 
the  Maine  woods,  one  of  twenty-six  school-denied  children; 
the  ungainly  young  sailor  with  his  hot  temper  and  scars;  the 
dreamer  of  golden  dreams;  the  captain,  the  fortune-finder, 
the  knight.  Another  link  was  soon  added  to  this  marvelous 
chain  of  events.  The  house  of  gables  in  the  green  lane  was 
offered  for  sale.  Sir  William  purchased  it,  and  the  Albemarle 
Cup  was  taken  into  it,  amid  furnishings  worthy  of  a  knight 
and  lady. 

"  The  two  looked  out  of  the  upper  window  over  Boston 
town. — He  was  an  honest  man." 

After  this  many-time  repeated  declaration  that  Sir  Wil- 
liam was  an  honest  man,"  he  added:  "A  man  must  get  a  liv- 
ing somehow — he  must  get  a  living  somehow;  either  he  must 
save  or  be  a  slave." 

Little  Ben  thought  that  he  would  like  to  earn  a  living  in 
some  such  way  as  that.  The  brick  house  in  the  "  Faire  Green 
Lane  "  meant  much  to  him  after  stories  like  those.  He  surely 
was  almost  as  poor  as  Sir  William  was  at  his  age.  Could  he 
turn  his  own  dreams  into  gold,  or  into  that  which  is  better 
than  gold? 

"  Jenny,"  he  said,  "  I  would  like  to  be  able  to  give  a  brick 
house  in  the  Faire  Green  Lane  to  father  and  mother,  and  to 
you.  Maybe  I  will  some  day.  I  will  be  true  to  my  home! " 


CHAPTEE  XV. 
"HAVE  i  A  CHANCE?" 

BLESSED  is  he  who  lends  good  books  to  young  people. 
There  was  such  a  man  in  Boston  town  named  Adams,  one 
hundred  and  ninety  years  ago.  His  influence  still  lives,  for 
he  lent  such  books  to  young  Benjamin  Franklin. 

The  boy  was  slowly  learning  what  noble  minds  had  done 
in  the  world;  how  they  became  immortal  by  leaving  their 
thought  and  works  behind  them.  His  constant  question  was, 
What  have  I  the  chance  or  the  opportunity  to  do?  What  can 
I  do  that  will  benefit  others? 

It  was  a  November  evening.  The  days  were  short;  the 
night  came  on  at  six  o'clock.  These  were  the  dark  days  of  the 
year. 

"  There  is  to  be  a  candle-light  meeting  in  the  South  Church, 
and  I  must  go,"  said  Uncle  Benjamin.  "  It  will  be  pretty 
cold  there  to-night,  Ben;  you  had  better  get  the  foot  stove." 

The  foot  stove  was  a  tin  or  brass  box  in  a  wooden  frame 
with  a  handle.  It  was  filled  with  live  coals,  and  was  carried  to 
the  church  by  a  handle,  as  one  would  carry  a  dinner  pail. 

Little  Benjamin  brought  the  stove  out  of  a  cupboard  to 
the  hearth,  took  out  of  it  a  pan,  which  he  filled  with  hard 
coals  and  replaced  it. 

92 


"HAVE  I  A  CHANCE  I"  93 

"  Ben,"  said  Uncle  Ben,  "  you  had  better  go  along  with  us 
and  carry  the  stove." 

"  I  will  go,  too,"  said  Josiah  Franklin.  "  There  is  to  be  a 
lecture  to-night  on  the  book  of  Job.  I  always  thought  that 
that  book  is  the  greatest  poem  in  all  the  world.  Job  arrived 
at  a  conclusion,  and  one  that  will  stand.  He  tells  us,  since  we 
can  not  know  the  first  cause  and  the  end,  that  we  must  be  al- 
ways ignorant  of  the  deepest  things  of  life,  but  that  we  must 
do  just  right  in  everything;  and  if  we  do  that,  everything  which 
happens  to  us  will  be  for  our  best  good,  and  the  very  best 
thing  that  could  happen  whether  we  gain  or  lose,  have  or 
want.  I  may  be  a  poor  man,  with  my  tallow  dips,  but  I  have 
always  been  determined  to  do  just  right.  It  may  be  that  I 
will  be  blessed  in  my  children — who  knows?  and  then  men 
may  say  of  me, '  There  was  a  man! ' " 

"  '  And  he  dwelt  in  the  land  of  Uz,' "  said  Uncle  Ben. 

"  Wait  for  me  a  few  minutes  while  I  get  ready,"  said  Josiah 
Franklin.  "  I  will  have  to  shave." 

The  prospect  of  a  lecture  in  the  old  South  Church  on 
the  philosophical  patriarch  who  dwelt  in  the  land  of  Uz, 
and  led  his  flocks,  and  saw  the  planets  come  and  go  in 
their  eternal  march,  on  the  open  plains  or  through  the 
branches  of  pastoral  palms,  was  a  very  agreeable  one  to 
little  Ben. 

He  thought. 

"  Uncle  Benjamin,"  he  said,  "  a  man  who  writes  a  book 
like  Job  leaves  his  thoughts  behind  him.  He  does  not  die 
like  other  men;  his  life  goes  on." 

"  Yes,  that  is  what  some  people  call  an  objective  life.    I 


9J:  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

call  it  a  protective  life.  A  man  who  builds  men,  or  things,  for 
the  use  of  men,  lives  in  the  things  he  builds.  He  has  im- 
mortality in  this  world.  A  man  who  builds  a  house  leaves 
his  thought  in  the  form  of  the  house  he  builds.  If  he  make 
a  road,  he  lives  in  the  road;  if  he  invent  a  useful  thing,  he 
lives  in  the  invention.  A  man  may  live  in  a  ship  that  he  has 
caused  to  be  constructed,  or  his  mind  may  see  the  form  of  a 
church,  a  hall,  or  a  temple,  and  he  may  so  build  after  what  he 
sees  that  he  makes  his  thoughts  creative,  and  he  lives  on  in 
the  things  that  he  creates  after  he  dies.  It  was  so  with  the 
builders  of  cities,  of  the  Pyramids.  So  Romulus — if  there  were 
such  a  man — lives  in  Eome,  and  Columbus  in  the  lands  that 
he  discovered.  The  Pilgrim  Fathers  will  always  live  in  New 
England.  Those  who  do  things  and  make  things  leave  behind 
them  a  life  outside  of  themselves.  I  call  such  works  a  man's 
projected  life." 

Little  Ben  sat  swinging  the  foot  stove. 

"  He  lives  the  longest  in  this  world  who  invents  the  most 
useful  things  for  others,"  continued  Uncle  Benjamin.  "  The 
thoughts  of  Copernicus,  Galileo,  and  Xewton  changed  the 
world.  Those  men  can  never  die." 

Little  Ben  swung  the  stove  in  his  hand. 

Suddenly  he  looked   up,  and  we  fancy  him  to   have    said: 

"Uncle  Benjamin,  have  /  a  chance?" 

Jamie  the  Scotchman  came  into  the  house,  jingling  the 
door  bell  as  he  shut  the  door. 

"Philosophizing?"  said  he. 

"  Little  Ben  here  is  inquiring  in  regard  to  his  chance  of 
doing  something  in  the  world — of  living  so  as  to  leave  his 


"HAVE  I  A  CHANCE ? 


95 


thoughts  in  creative  forms  behind.  What  do  you  think  about 
it,  Jamie  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  know;  it  is  a  pretty  hard  case.  Drum- 
sticks will  make  a  noise,  so  any  man  may  make  himself  heard 
if  he  will.  Certain  it  is  Ben  has  no  gifts;  at  least,  I  have  never 
discerned  any.  There  are  no  Attic  bees  buzzing  around 
him,  none  that  I  have  seen,  unless  there  be  such  things  up 
in  the  attic,  which  would  not  be  likely  in  a  new  house  like 
this." 

Uncle  Ben  pitied  the  little  boy,  whose  feelings  he  saw  were 
hurt. 

"  Jamie,  I  have  read  much,  and  have  made  some  observa- 
tion, and  life  tells  me  that  character,  industry,  and  a  deter- 
mined purpose  will  do  much  for  a  man  that  has  no  special 
gifts.  The  Scriptures  do  not  say  that  a  man  of  gifts  shall 
stand  before  kings,  but  that  the  man  '  diligent  in  his  busi- 
ness '  shall  do  so.  Ben  here  can  rise  with  the  best  of  the 
world,  and  if  he  has  thoughts,  he  can  project  them.  It  is 
thinking  that  makes  men  work.  He  thinks. — Ben,  you  can 
do  anything  that  any  one  else  of  your  opportunities  has  ever 
done.  There — I  hate  to  see  the  boy  discouraged." 

"  The  fifteenth  child  among  seventeen  children  would  not 
seem  likely  to  have  a  very  broad  outlook,"  said  Jamie,  "but 
it  is  good  to  encourage  him;  it  is  good  to  encourage 
anybody.  He  is  one  of  the  human  family,  like  all  the  rest 
of  us. — Are  you  going  to  the  lecture?  I  will  go  along  with 
you." 

Josiah  Franklin  was  now  ready  to  go,  and  the  party  started. 
Josiah  carried  a  lantern,  and  little  Benjamin  the  foot  stove 


96  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

with  the  coals.  As  they  walked  along  they  met  other  people 
with  lanterns  and  foot  stoves. 

Uncle  Benjamin  felt  hurt  at  what  Jamie  had  said,  so  he 
proceeded  to  encourage  the  boy  as  they  went  along. 

"  If  you  could  invent  a  stove  that  would  warm  the 
whole  church,  you  would  have  a  projected  life,  for  example," 
said  he. 

"  Have  I  a  chance  ?  "  asked  again  the  future  inventor  of 
the  Franklin  stove. 

"  Or  if  you  could  print  something  original  that  might  live; 
or  found  a  society  to  study  science — something  might  come 
out  of  that;  or  could  make  some  scheme  for  a  hetter  govern- 
ment of  the  people  in  these  parts;  but  that  would  be  too  great 
for  you.  There  I  go!  " 

Uncle  Benjamin  stumbled.    Little  Ben  helped  him  up. 

They  came  to  the  South  Church,  where  many  lanterns, 
foot  stoves,  and  tallow  dips  were  gathered,  and  shadowy  forms 
were  moving  to  and  fro. 

Little  Ben  set  down  the  stove  in  the  pew.  The  lecture 
began.  He  heard  the  minister  read  the  sublime  passage  of  the 
ancient  poem  beginning,  "  Then  the  Lord  answered  Job  out  of 
the  whirlwind,  and  said."  He  heard  about  the  "  morning 
stars  singing  together,"  the  "  sweet  influences  of  Pleiades," 
and  the  question,  "  Canst  thou  bind  the  sea?  " 

The  boy  asked,  "Have  I  a  chance?  have  I  a  chance?" 
The  discouraging  words  of  Jamie  the  Scotchman  hung  over 
his  mind  like  a  cloud. 

The  influence  of  the  coals  led  Josiah  Franklin  to  slumber- 
land  after  his  hard  day's  work.  Little  Ben  saw  his  father 


"HAVE  I  A  CHANCE!"  97 

nod  and  nod.  But  Uncle  Benjamin  was  in  the  Orient  with  the 
minister,  having  a  hard  experience  for  the  good  of  life  with 
the  patriarch  Job. 

"Have  I  a  chance?'*  The  boy  shed  tears.  If  he  had 
not  gifts,  he  knew  that  he  had  personality,  but  there  was  some- 
thing stirring  within  him  that  led  his  thoughts  to  seek  the 
good  of  others. 

The  nine-o'clock  bell  rang.    The  lecture  was  over. 

"Good — wasn't  it?"  said  Jamie  the  Scotchman  as  they 
went  out  of  the  church  and  looked  down  to  the  harbor  glim- 
mering under  the  moon  and  stars,  and  added: 

"  Ben,  you  will  be  sure  to  have  one  thing  to  spur  you  on 
to  lead  that  '  projected  life  '  your  Uncle  Benjamin  tells  about." 

"What  is  that,  sir?" 

"  A  hard  time^  like  Job — a  mighty  hard  time." 

"  The  true  way  to  knowledge,"  said  Uncle  Benjamin  en- 
couragingly. 

Uncle  Benjamin  felt  a  hand  in  his  great  mitten.  It  was 
little  Ben's.  The  confidence  touched  his  heart. 

"  Ben,  you  are  as  likely  to  have  a  projected  life  as  anybody. 
A  man  rises  by  overcoming  his  defects.  Strength  comes  in 
that  way." 

Little  Ben  went  through  the  jingling  door  with  a  heart 
now  heavy,  now  light.  He  set  down  the  lantern,  and  climbed 
up  to  his  bed  under  the  roof. 

He  was  soon  inched,  the  question,  "Have  I  a  chance?" 
still  haunting  him. 

In  summer  there  would  be  the  sound  of  the  wings  of  the 
swallows  or  purple  swifts  in  the  chimney  at  night  as  they  be- 


98  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

came  displaced  from  their  nests.  He  would  start  up  to  listen 
to  the  whirring  wings,  then  sink  into  slumber,  to  awake  a 
blithe,  light-hearted  boy  again. 

All  was  silent  now.  He  could  not  sleep.  His  fancy  was 
too  wide  awake.  Was  Uncle  Benjamin  right,  or  Jamie  the 
Scotchman?  Had  he  a  chance? 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"A     BOOK     THAT     INFLUENCED    THE     CHARACTER     OF     A     MAN 
WHO   LED   HIS  AGE." 

:<You  must  read  good  books,"  said  Benjamin  Franklin's 
godfather.  "How  sorry  I  am  that  I  had  to  sell  my  pam- 
phlets! " 

Books  have  stamped  their  character  on  young  men  at  the 
susceptible  age  and  the  turning  points  of  life.  But  their  in- 
fluence for  good  or  evil  comes  to  receptive  characters.  "He 
•is  a  genius,"  says  Emerson,  "who  gives  me  back  my  own 
thoughts."  The  gospel  says,  "  He  that  hath  ears  to  hear,  let 
him  hear." 

Abraham  Lincoln  would  walk  twenty  miles  to  borrow  a 
law  book,  and  would  sit  down  on  a  log  by  the  wayside  to  study 
it  on  his  return  from  such  a  journey.  Horace  Greeley  says 
that  when  he  was  a  boy  he  would  go  reading  to  a  woodpile. 
"  I  would  take  a  pine  knot,"  he  said,  "  put  it  on  the  back  log, 
pile  my  books  around  me,  and  lie  down  and  read  all  through 
the  long  winter  evenings."  He  read  the  kind  of  books  for 
which  his  soul  hungered.  He  read  to  find  in  books  what  he 
himself  wished  to  be.  A  true  artist  sees  and  hears  only  what 
he  wishes  to  see  and  hear.  An  active,  earnest,  resolute  soul 
reads  only  that  which  helps  him  fulfill  the  haunting  purpose 
of  his  life.  Almost  every  great  man's  books  that  were  his  com- 

09 


100  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

panions  in  early  years  were  pictures  of  what  he  most  wished 
to  be  and  to  do. 

How  many  men  have  had  their  spiritual  life  quickened  by 
a  hymn!  How  many  by  a  single  poem!  Homer  and  Ossian 
filled  the  imagination  of  Napoleon.  Plutarch's  Lives  has 
helped  form  the  characters  of  a  thousand  heroes,  and  Emerson 
placed  Plutarch  next  to  the  Bible  in  the  rank  of  beneficent  in- 
fluences. We  would  say  to  every  boy,  Eead  Plutarch;  read  the 
best  books  first. 

A  few  books  well  read  would  be  an  education.  Let  a  boy 
read  the  Bible,  Josephus,  Plutarch's  Lives,  Rawlinson's,  Hal- 
lam's,  Macaulay's,  Bancroft's,  and  Prescott's  histories,  Shakes- 
peare, Tennyson,  and  Longfellow,  and  he  would  have  a  basis 
of  knowledge  of  such  substantial  worth  and  moral  and  literary 
standard  as  to  cause  his  intelligence  to  be  respected  every- 
where and  to  become  a  power.  Yet  all  these  books  could 
be  purchased  for  twenty-five  dollars,  and  the  time  that  many 
waste  in  unprofitable  reading  for  three  years  would  be  suffi- 
cient to  master  them. 

"  I  am  a  part  of  all  that  I  have  met,"  says  Tennyson,  and 
a  man  becomes  a  part  of  all  the  books  that  color  his  mind  and 
character.  Ask  a  company  of  people  what  books  they  most 
sought  in  childhood,  and  you  may  have  a  mental  photograph 
of  each. 

Benjamin  Franklin  says  that  his  opinions  and  character 
were  so  greatly  influenced  by  his  reading  Cotton  Mather's 
Essays  to  do  Good,  that  he  owed  to  that  book  his  rise  in  life. 
A  boy,  he  says,  should  read  that  book  with  pen  and  note-book 
in  hand. 


"A  MAN  WHO  LED  HIS  AGE." 

Benjamin  Franklin  declared  that  it  was  in  this  book  that 
he  found  the  statements  of  the  purposes  in  life  that  met  his 
own  views.  "  To  do  good,"  he  said,  was  the  true  aim  of  exist- 
ence, and  the  resolution  became  fixed  in  his  soul  to  seek  to 
make  his  life  as  beneficent  as  possible  to  all  men.  How  to  help 
somebody  and  to  improve  something  became  the  dreams  of 
his  days  and  nights.  "  A  high  aim  is  curative,"  says  Emerson. 
Franklin  had  some  evil  tendencies  of  nature  and  habit,  but 
his  purpose  to  live  for  the  welfare  of  everybody  and  every- 
thing overcame  them  all  in  the  end,  and  made  him  honestly 
confess  his  faults  and  try  to  make  amends  for  his  lapses.  To 
do  good  was  an  impelling  purpose  that  led  him  to  the  build- 
ing of  the  little  wharf,  where  boys  might  have  firm  footing 
whence  to  sail  their  boats,  and  it  continued  through  many 
wiser  experiences  up  to  the  magic  bottle,  in  which  was  stored 
the  revelation  of  that  agent  of  the  earth  and  skies  that  would 
prove  the  most  beneficent  of  all  new  discoveries. 

The  book  confirmed  all  that  Uncle  Benjamin  had  said. 
In  it  he  saw  what  he  should  struggle  to  be:  he  put  his  resolu- 
tion into  this  vision,  and  so  took  the  first  step  on  the  ladder  of 
life  which  was  to  give  him  a  large  view  of  human  affairs. 

He  turned  from  the  candle  molds  to  Cotton  Mather's  strong 
pages,  which  few  boys  would  care  to  read  now,  and  from 
them,  a  little  later,  to  Addison,  and  from  both  to  talk  with 
Jenny  about  what  he  would  like  to  do  and  to  become,  and, 
like  William  Phips  to  the  widow,  he  promised  Jenny  that 
they,  too,  should  one  day  live  in  some  "  Faire  Green  Lane  in 
Boston  town."  He  would  be  true  to  his  home — he  and  Jenny. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

BENJAMIN    LOOKS   FOR   A    PLACE    WHEEEIX    TO    STAET    IN   LIFE. 

BESIDES  his  instruction  from  encouraging  Mr.  Brownell 
and  his  Uncle  Benjamin,  little  Benjamin  Franklin  had  spent 
one  year  at  school  and  several  years  of  self-instruction  under 
helps.  His  father  needed  him  in  the  candle  shop,  and  he  could 
not  give  him  a  larger  education  with  so  many  mouths  to  feed. 

Young  Ben  did  not  like  his  occupation  in  the  candle  shop. 
He  worked  with  his  hands  while  his  heart  was  absent,  and  his 
imagination  was  even  farther  away. 

He  had  a  brother  John  who  had  helped  his  father  when 
a  boy,  who  married  and  moved  to  Rhode  Island  to  follow  there 
his  father's  trade  as  a  candle  and  soap  maker.  John's  removal 
doubled  the  usefulness  of  little  Ben  among  the  candle  molds 
and  soap  kettles.  He  saw  how  this  kind  of  work  would  in- 
crease as  he  grew  older;  he  longed  for  a  different  occupation, 
something  that  would  satisfy  his  mental  faculties  and  give 
him  intellectual  opportunities,  and  his  dreams  went  sailing  to 
the  seas  and  lands  where  his  brother  Josiah  had  been.  There 
were  palms  in  his  fancy,  gayly  plumed  birds,  tropical  waters, 
and  a  free  life  under  vertical  suns — India,  the  Spanish  Main, 
the  ports  of  the  Mediterranean.  He  talked  so  much  of  going 

102 


BENJAMIN  LOOKS  FOR  A  PLACE.        103 

to  sea  that  his  father  saw  that  his  shop  was  not  the  place  for 
this  large-brained  boy  with  an  inventive  faculty. 

"  Ben,"  said  Josiah  Franklin  one  day,  "  this  is  no  place  for 
you — you  are  not  balanced  like  other  boys;  your  head  is 
canted  the  other  way.  You'll  be  running  off  to  sea  some  day, 
just  as  Josiah  did.  Come,  let  us  go  eut  into  the  town,  and  I 
will  try  to  find  another  place  for  you.  You  will  have  to  be- 
come an  apprentice  boy." 

"Anything,  father,  but  this  dull  work.  I  seem  here  to 
be  giving  all  my  time  to  nothing.  Soap  and  candles  are  good 
and  useful  things,  but  people  can  make  them  who  can  do 
nothing  else.  I  want  a  place  that  will  give  me  a  chance  to 
work  with  my  head.  What  is  my  head  for?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  Ben;  it  will  take  time  to  answer  that. 
You  do  seem  to  have  good  faculties,  if  you  are  my  son.  I 
would  be  glad  to  have  you  do  the  very  best  that  you  are  capa- 
ble of  doing,  and  Heaven  knows  that  I  would  give  you  an 
education  if  I  were  able.  Come,  let  us  go." 

They  went  out  into  the  streets  of  Boston  town.  The 
place  then  contained  something  more  than  two  thousand 
houses,  most  of  them  built  of  timber  and  covered  with  cedar 
shingles;  a  few  of  them  were  stately  edifices  of  brick  and  tiles. 
It  had  seven  churches,  and  they  were  near  the  sign  of  the 
Blue  Ball:  King's  Chapel,  Brattle  Street,  the  Old  Quaker,  the 
New  North,  the  New  South,  the  New  Brick,  and  Christ 
Church.  There  was  a  free  writing  school  on  Cornhill,  a  school 
at  the  South  End,  and  another  writing  school  on  Love  Lane. 
Ben  Franklin  could  not  enter  these  simple  school  doors  for 
the  want  of  means.  To  gain  the  Franklin  Medal,  provided 


104:  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

by  legacy  of  Benjamin  Franklin,  is  now  the  high  ambition  of 
every  Boston  Latin  schoolboy.  There  were  fortifications  on 
Fort  Hill  and  a  powder  house  on  the  Common.  There  were 
inns,  taverns,  and  ordinaries  everywhere.  Boston  was  a  town 
of  inns  with  queer  names;  Long  Wharf  was  the  seaway  to  the 
ships.  Chatham  Street  tiow  was  then  a  fair  green  lane;  Salem 
Street  was  a  place  of  property  people  or  people  of  "  quality." 

In  King's  Chapel  was  a  state  pew  for  the  royal  Governors. 
On  the  pulpit  stood  an  hourglass  in  a  frame  of  brass.  The 
pillars  were  hung  with  escutcheons  of  the  king. 

Ben  may  have  passed  the  old  Latin  School  which  at  first 
was  established  at  a  place  just  east  of  King's  Chapel.  If  so, 
he  must  have  wished  to  be  entered  there  as  a  pupil  again.  The 
school  has  distributed  his  medals  now  for  several  generations. 
He  may  have  passed  the  old  inns  like  the  Blue  Anchor  Tavern, 
or  the  Eoyal  Exchange,  or  the  fire  of  1711  may  have  wiped 
out  some  of  these  old  historic  buildings,  and  new  ones  to  take 
their  places  may  have  been  rising  or  have  been  but  recently 
completed.  The  old  Corner  Bookstore  was  there,  for  it  was 
built  directly  after  the  fire  of  1711.  It  is  the  oldest  brick 
building  now  standing  in  the  city,  and  one  of  the  few  on  which 
little  Ben's  eyes  could  have  rested.  A  new  town  arose  after 
the  fire. 

Josiah  Franklin  and  little  Ben  visited  the  workshops  of 
carpenters,  turners,  glaziers,  and  others,  but,  although  they  had 
a  good  time  together  in  the  study,  the  kind  father  could  not 
find  a  place  that  suited  his  son.  Ben  did  not  like  to  be  appren- 
ticed to  any  of  the  tradesmen  that  he  met. 

He  had  a  brother  James,  of  a  bright  mind  but  of  no  very 


BENJAMIN  LOOKS  FOR  A  PLACE.        105 

amiable  disposition,  who  was  a  printer.  He  had  been  to  London 
to  improve  his  trade,  and  on  his  return  he  became  the  one 
printer  in  the  town. 

One  evening,  between  the  violin  and  the  Bible,  Josiah 
Franklin  suddenly  said: 

"  Ben,  you  look  here!  " 

"What,  father?"  asked  the  boy,  starting. 

"  It  all  comes  to  me  what  you  ought  to  do.  You  should 
become  a  printer." 

"  That  I  would  like,  father." 

:<  Then  the  way  is  clear — let  me  apprentice  you  to  James." 

"  Would  he  have  me,  father?  We  do  not  always  get  on 
well  together.  I.  want  to  learn  the  printer's  trade;  that  would 
help  me  on  to  an  education." 

Josiah  Franklin  was  now  a  happier  man.  Ben  would 
have  no  more  desire  to  go  to  sea.  If  he  could  become  any- 
thing out  of  the  ordinary,  the  printer's  trade  would  be  the 
open  way. 

He  went  to  his  son  James  and  presented  the  matter.  As 
a  result,  they  drew  up  an  indenture. 

This  indenture,  which  may  be  found  in  Franklin's  princi- 
pal biographies,  was  a  very  queer  document,  but  follows  the 
usual  form  of  the  times  of  George  I.  It  was  severe — a  form 
by  which  a  lad  was  practically  sold  into  slavery,  and  yet  it 
contained  the  demands  that  develop  right  conduct  in  life.  Ben 
was  not  constituted  to  be  an  apprentice  boy  under  these  sharp 
conditions  even  to  his  own  brother.  But  all  began  well.  His 
mother,  who  worried  lest  he  should  follow  the  example  of  his 
brother  Josiah,  now  had  heart  content.  His  father  secured 


106  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

an  apprentice,  and  probably  had  drawn  up  for  him  a  like  form 
of  indenture. 

Benjamin,  too,  was  happy  now.  He  saw  that  his  new  way 
of  life  led  to  somewhere — where?  He  would  do  his  best  to 
make  it  lead  to  the  best  in  life.  He  started  with  a  high  re- 
solve, which  we  are  sorry  he  did  not  always  fulfill  in  the  letter, 
though  the  spirit  of  it  never  was  lost. 

His  successor  in  the  tallow  shop  does  not  seem  to  have 
been  more  happy  than  he.  His  name  was  Tinsley.  There 
appeared  in  the  N^ew  England  Courant  of  1722  the  following 
queer  advertisement,  which  we  copy  because  it  affords  a  pic- 
ture of  the  times: 

Ean  away  from  his  Master,  Mr.  Josiah  Franklin,  of  Boston, 
TalloAV-Chandler,  on  the  first  of  this  instant  July,  an  Irish 
Man-servant,  named  William  Tinsley,  about  20  Years  of  Age, 
of  a  middle  Stature,  black  Hair,  lately  cut  off,  somewhat  fresh- 
coloured  Countenance,  a  large  lower  Lip,  of  a  mean  Aspect, 
large  Legs,  and  heavy  in  his  Going.  He  had  on,  when  he  went 
away,  a  felt  Hat,  a  white  knit  Cap,  striped  with  red  and  blue, 
white  Shirt,  and  neck-cloth,  a  brown  coloured  Jacket,  almost 
new,  a  frieze  Coat,  of  a  dark  Colour,  grey  yarn  Stockings, 
leather  Breeches,  trimmed  with  black,  and  round  to'd  Shoes. 
Whoever  shall  apprehend  the  said  runaway  Servant,  and  him 
safely  convey  to  his  above  said  Master,  at  the  blue  Ball,  in 
"Union  street,  Boston,  shall  have  forty  Shillings  lleward,  and 
all  necessary  Charges  paid. 

As  this  advertisement,  was  continued  for  three  successive 
weeks,  we  are  at  liberty  to  conclude  that  William  Tinsley  was 
not  "  apprehended." 


BENJAMIN  LOOKS  FOR  A  PLACE.  107 

Let  the  reader  be  glad  that  he  did  not  live  in  those  days. 
The  best  of  all  ages  is  now. 

"And  so  you  have  begun  life  as  a  printer?"  said  Uncle 
Benjamin.  "A  printer's  trade  is  one  after  my  own  heart. 
It  develops  thought.  If  I  could  have  only  kept  my  pamphlets 
until  now,  you  would  have  printed  the  notes  that  I  made.  One 
of  them  says  that  what  people  want  is  not  favors  or  patronage 
of  any  kind,  but  justice.  Kemember  that,  Ben.  What  the 
world  wants  is  justice.  You  may  become  a  printer  in  your 
own  right  some  day." 

"  I  want  to  become  one,  uncle.  That  is  just  what  is  in  my 
heart.  I  can  see  success  in  my  mind." 

"  But  you  can  do  it  if  you  will.  Everything  goes  down 
before  '  I  will! '  The  Alps  fell  before  Hannibal.  Have  a  deaf 
ear,  Ben,  toward  all  who  say  '  You  can't ! '  Such  men  don't 
count  with  those  in  the  march;  they  are  stragglers.  Don't 
you  be  laughed  down  by  anybody.  Hold  your  head  high; 
there  is  just  as  much  royal  blood  in  your  veins  as  there  is  in 
any  king  on  earth.  There  is  no  royal  blood  but  that  which 
springs  from  true  worth.  I  put  that  down  in  my  documents 
years  ago. 

"  Life  is  too  short  to  stop  to  quarrel  with  any  one  by  the 
way.  If  a  man  calls  you  a  fool,  you  need  not  come  out  under 
your  own  signature  and  deny  it.  Your  life  should  do  that. 
I  am  quoting  from  my  pamphlets  again. 

"  If  you  meet  old  Mr.  Calamity  in  your  way,  the  kind  of 
man  who  tells  you  that  you  have  no  ground  of  expectation, 
and  that  everything  in  the  world  is  going  to  ruin,  just  whistle, 
and  luck  will  come  to  you,  my  boy.  I  only  wish  that  I  had 


108  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

my  documents — my  pamphlets,  I  mean.  I  would  have  left  them 
to  you  in  my  will.  In  the  present  state  of  society  one  must 
save  or  be  a  slave — that  also  I  wrote  down  in  my  docu- 
ments. It  is  a  pity  that  it  is  so,  but  it  is.  Save  what  you 
can  while  you  are  young,  and  it  will  give  your  mind  leisure 
to  work  when  you  are  older.  That  was  in  my  pamphlets. 
I  hope  that  I  may  live  to  see  you  the  best  printer  in  the 
colonies." 

The  boy  absorbed  the  spirit  of  these  proverbial  sayings. 
They  were  to  his  liking  and  bent  of  mind.  But  there  came 
into  his  young  face  a  shadow. 

"  Uncle  Ben,  I  know  what  you  say  is  true.  I  have  listened 
to  you;  now  I  would  like  you  to  hear  me.  You  saw  the  boys 
going  to  the  Latin  School  this  morning?" 

"Yes,  Ben." 

"  I  can  not  go  there." 

"  0  Ben!  that  is  hard,"  said  Jenny,  who  was  by  his  side. 

"  But  you  can  go  to  school,  Ben,"  said  Uncle  Benjamin. 

"Where,  uncle?" 

"  To  life — and  graduate  there  as  well  as  any  of  them." 

"  I  would  like  to  study  Latin." 

"Well,  what  is  to  hinder  you,  Ben?  One  only  needs  to 
learn  the  alphabet  to  learn  all  that  can  be  known  through 
books.  You  know  that  now." 

"  I  would  like  to  learn  French.  Other  boys  can;  I  can 
not." 

"  The  time  will  come  when  you  can.  The  gates  open  before 
a  purpose.  You  can  study  French  later  in  life,  and,  it  may  be, 
make  as  good  use  of  French  as  any  of  them." 


BENJAMIN  LOOKS  FOR  A  PLACE.        109 

"  Why  can  not  I  .do  as  other  boys?  " 

"  You  can,  Ben.  You  can  so  live  that  the  Boston  Latin 
School  to  which  you  can  not  go  now  will  honor  you  some 
day." 

"I  would  be  sorry  to  see  another  boy  feel  as  I  have  felt 
when  I  have  seen  the  boys  going  to  that  school  with  happy 
faces  to  learn  the  things  that  I  want  to  know.  But  father 
has  done  the  best  that  he  can  for  me." 

"  Yes,  Ben,  he  has,  and  you  only  need  to  do  the  best  that 
you  can  for  yourself  to  graduate  at  the  head  of  all  in  the  school 
of  life.  I  know  how  to  feel  for  you,  Ben.  I  have  stood  in 
shoes  like  yours  many  times.  When  you  have  done  as  I  have 
told  you,  then  think  of  me.  The  world  may  soon  forget 
me.  I  want  you  so  to  live  that  it  will  not  as  soon  forget 
you." 

The  cloud  passed  from  the  boy's  face.  Hope  came  to  him, 
and  he  was  merry  again.  He  locked  Jenny  in  his  arms,  whirled 
her  around,  and  said: 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  the  bells  ring  for  other  boys,  even  if  I 
must  go  to  my  trade." 

"  I  like  the  spirit  of  what  you  say,"  said  Uncle  Benjamin. 
"  You  have  the  blood  of  Peter  Folger  and  of  your  Great-uncle 
Tom  in  your  veins.  Peter  gave  his  heart  to  the  needs  of  the 
Indians,  and  to  toleration;  your  Great-uncle  Tom  started  the 
subscription  for  the  bells  of  Nottingham,  and  became  a  magis- 
trate, and  a  just  one.  You  may  not  be  able  to  answer 
the  bell  of  the  Latin  School,  but  if  you  are  only  true  to  the 
best  that  is  in  you,  little  Ben,  you  may  make  bells  ring  for 
joy.  I  can  hear  them  now  in  my  mind's  ear.  Don't  laugh 


HO  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

at   your    old   uncle;     you    can    do    it,    little    Ben — can't    lie 
Jenny?" 

"  He  just  can — I  can  help  him.  Ben  can  do  anything — 
he  may  make  the  Latin  School  bell  ring  for  others  yet — like 
Uncle  Tom.  He  is  the  boy  to  do  it,  and  I  am  the  sister  to 
help  him  to  do  it — ain't  I,  Uncle  Benjamin  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XVI1L 

LITTLE    BEN'S   ADVENTURES    AS   A   POET. 

THAT  was  a  charmed  life  that  little  Ben  Franklin  led  in 
the  early  days  of  his  apprenticeship.  He  always  thought  of  pro- 
vincial Boston  as  his  "  beloved  city."  When  he  grew  old,  the 
Boston  of  his  boyhood  was  to  him  a  delightful  dream. 

He  and  his  father  were  on  excellent  terms  with  each  other. 
His  father,  though  a  very  grave,  pious  man,  whose  delight 
was  to  go  to  the  Old  South  Church  with  his  large  family, 
allowed  little  Ben  to  crack  his  jokes  on  him. 

He  was  accustomed  to  say  long  graces  at  meals,  at  which 
the  food  was  not  overmuch,  and  the  hungry  children  many. 
One  day,  after  he  had  salted  down  a  large  quantity  of  meat  in 
a  barrel,  he  was  surprised  to  hear  Ben  ask: 

"  Father,  why  don't  you  Say  grace  over  it  now?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Ben?  " 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  saving  of  time  to  say  grace  now  over  the 
whole  barrel  of  provisions,  and  then  you  could  omit  it  at 
meals?" 

But  the  strong  member  of  the  Old  South  Church  had  no 
such  ideas  of  religious  economy  as  revealed  his  son's  mathe- 
matical mind. 

The  Franklin  family  must  have  presented  a  lively  appear- 
Ill 


112  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

ance  at  church,  in  old  Dr.  Joseph  Sewell's  day.  They  heard 
some  sound  preaching  there,  and  Dr.  Sewell  lived  as  he  preached. 
He  was  offered  the  presidency  of  Harvard  College,  but  honors 
were  as  bubbles  to  him,  and  he  refused  it  for  a  position  of  less 
money  and  fame,  but  of  more  direct  spiritual  influence,  and 
better  in  accord  with  the  modest  views  of  his  ability.  He  began 
to  preach  in  the  Old  South  Church  when  Ben  was  seven  years 
of  age;  he  preached  a  sermon  there  on  his  eightieth  birthday. 

These  were  fine  old  times  in  Boston  town.  Some  linen  spin- 
ners came  over  from  Londonderry,  in  Ireland,  and  they  estab- 
lished a  spinning  school.  They  also  brought  with  them  the 
potato,  which  soon  became  a  great  luxury. 

Josiah  Franklin  probably  pastured  his  cows  on  the  Com- 
mon, and  little  Ben  may  often  have  sat  down  under  the  old  elm 
by  the  frog  pond  and  looked  over  the  Charles  Kiver-  marshes, 
which  were  then  where  the  Public  Garden  now  is. 

But  the  delight  of  the  boy's  life  was  still  Uncle  Benjamin, 
the  poet.  The  two  read  and  roamed  together.  Now  Ben  had 
a  poetic  vein  in  him,  a  small  one  probably  inherited  from  his 
grandfather  Folger,  and  it  began  to  be  active  at  this  time. 

There  were  terrible  stories  or  pirates  in  the  air.  They 
kindled  the  boy's  lively  imagination;  they  represented  the 
large  subject  of  retributive  justice,  and  he  resolved  to  devote  his 
poetic  sense  to  one  of  these  alarming  characters. 

There  was  a  dreadful  pirate  by  the  name  of  Edward  Teach, 
but  commonly  called  "  Blackbeard."  He  was  born  in  Bristol, 
England.  He  became  the  terror  of  the  Atlantic  coast,  and  had 
many  adventures  off  the  Carolinas.  He  was  at  length  captured 
and  executed. 


LITTLE  BEN'S  ADVENTURES  AS  A  POET. 

One  day  little  Ben  came  to  his  brother  James  with  a  paper. 

"  James,  I  have  been  writing  something,  and  I  have  come 
to  read  it  to  you." 

"What?" 

"  Poetry." 

"Like  Uncle  Ben's?" 

"  No;  it  is  on  Blackboard." 

James  thought  that  a  very  interesting  subject,  and  pre- 
pared to  listen  to  his  poet  brother. 

Little  Ben  unfolded  the  paper  and  began  to  read  his  lines, 
which  were  indeed  heroic. 

"Come,  all  you  jolly  sailors, 

You  all  so  stout  and  brave!" 

"  Good!  "  said  James.     "  That  starts  off  fine." 
Ben  continued: 

"Come,  hearken  and  I'll  tell  yon 
What  happened  on  the  wave." 

"  Better  yet — I  like  that.  Why,  Uncle  Ben  could  not  excel 
that.  What  next?" 

"  Oh,  'tis  of  that  bloody  Blackboard 

I'm  going  now  to  tell, 
And  as  how,  by  gallant  Maynard, 

He  soon  was  sent  to  hell, 
With  a  down,  down,  down,  deny  down ! " 

James  lifted  his  hands  at  this  refrain  after  the  old  English 
ballad  style. 

"  Ben,  I'll  tell  you  what  we'll  do.  I'll  print  the  verses  for 
you,  and  you  shall  sell  them  on  the  street." 

The  poet  Arion  at  his  coronation  at  Corinth  could  not  have 


114  TKUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

felt  prouder  than  little  Ben  at  that  hour.  He  would  be  both  a 
poet  and  bookseller,  and  his  brother  would  be  his  publisher. 

He  may  have  cried  on  Boston  street: 

"  Blackboard — broadside!  "  or  something  like  that.  It 
would  have  been  honorable  advertising. 

His  success  as  a  poet  was  instantaneous.  His  poem  sold 
well.  Compliments  fell  upon  him  like  a  sun  shower.  He  wrote 
another  poem  of  like  value,  and  it  sold  "  prodigiously."  He 
thought  indeed  he  was  a  great  poet,  and  had  started  out  on 
Shakespeare's  primrose  way  to  fame  and  glory.  Alas!  how 
many  under  like  circumstances  have  been  deceived.  He  lived 
to  call  his  ballads  "  wretched  stuff."  How  many  who  thought 
they  were  poets  have  lived  to  take  the  same  view  of  their 
work ! 

His  second  poem  was  called  the  Light-House  Tragedy.  It 
related  to  a  recent  event,  and  set  the  whole  town  to  talking, 
and  the  admiration  for  the  young  poet  was  doubled. 

In  the  midst  of  the  great  sale  of  his  poems  by  himself,  and 
of  all  the  flatteries  of  the  town,  he  went  for  approval  to  his 
father.  The  result  was  unexpected;  the  rain  of  sunshine 
changed  into  a  winter  storm  indeed. 

"  Father,  you  have  heard  that  I  have  become  a  poet  ?  " 

"  Ha!  ha!  ha!  "  laughed  Josiah,  in  his  paper  cap  and  leather 
breeches.  "  Like  your  Uncle  Ben,  my  boy,  and  he  amounted 
to  nothing  at  all  as  a  poet.  A  poet — my  stars!  " 

"  I  thought  that  you  looked  upon  Uncle  Ben  as  the  best 
man  in  all  the  world.  The  people  love  him.  When  he  enters 
the  Old  South  Church  there  is  silence." 

"  That  is  all  very  true,  my  boy,  but  he  lives  between  the 


LITTLE  BEN'S  ADVENTURES  AS  A   POET.  115 

heavens  and  the  earth,  and  can  not  get  up  to  the  one  or  down 
to  the  other.  Poets  are  beggars,  in  some  way  or  other.  They 
live  in  garrets  among  the  mice  and  bats.  Their  country  is  the 
imagination,  and  that  is  the  next  door  to  nowhere.  You  a 
poet!  What  puckers  my  face  up — so? " 

"  But  my  poetry  sells,  father,"  looking  into  his  father's  droll 
face,  his  heart  sinking. 

"Your  poetry!  It  sells,  my  boy,  because  you  are  a  little 
shaver  and  appear  to  be  smart,  and  also  because  your  rhymes 
refer  to  events  in  which  everybody  is  interested.  But,  my  son, 
your  poetry,  as  you  call  it,  has  no  merit  in  itself.  It  is  full  of 
all  kinds  of  errors.  It  is  style  that  makes  a  poem  live;  yours 
has  no  style." 

"  But,  father,  many  people  do  not  think  so." 

"  But  they  will.     You  will  think  so  some  day." 

"But  isn't  there  something  good  in  it?" 

"  Nothing,  Ben.  You  never  was  born  to  be  a  poet.  You 
have  the  ability  to  earn  a  living,  same  as  I  have  done.  Poets 
don't  have  that  kind  of  ability;  they  beg.  There  are  not  many 
men  who  can  earn  a  living  by  selling  their  fancies,  which  is 
mostly  moonshine." 

This  was  unsympathetic.  Ben  looked  at  the  soap  kettles 
and  candle  molds  and  wondered  if  these  things  had  not  blinded 
his  father's  poetic  perceptions.  There  was  no  Vale  of  Tempe 
here. 

But  Josiah  Franklin  had  hard  common  sense.  Little  Ben's 
dreams  of  poetic  fame  came  down  from  the  skies  at  one  arrow. 
That  was  a  bitter  hour. 

"  If  I  can  not  be  a  poet,"  he  thought,  "  I  can  still  be  use- 


TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

ful,"  and  he  reverted  from  heroic  ballads  to  stern  old  Cotton 
Mather's  Essays  to  do  Good.  The  fated  poet  is  always  left  a  like 
resource. 

Yet  many  people  who  have  not  become  poets,  but  who 
have  risen  to  be  eminent  men,  have  had  poetic  dreams  in 
early  life;  they  have  had  the  poetic  mind.  A  little  poetry  in 
one's  composition  is  no  Qommon  gift;  it  is  a  stamp  of  supe- 
riority in  some  direction.  Josiah  Franklin  was  a  wise  man,  but 
his  views  of  poetry  as  such  were  of  a  low  standard.  Poetry 
is  the  highest  expression  of  life,  the  noblest  exercise  of  the 
spiritual  faculties. 

So  poor  little  Ben  had  soared  to  be  laughed  at  again.  But 
there  was  something  out  of  the  common  stirring  in  him,  and  he 
would  fly  again  some  day.  The  victories  of  the  vanquished  are 
the  brightest  of  all. 

Franklin,  after  having  been  thus  given  over  to  the  waste 
barrel  by  his  father,  now  resolved  to  acquire  a  strong,  correct, 
and  impressive  prose  style  of  writing.  He  found  Addison's 
Spectator  one  of  the  best  of  all  examples  of  literary  style,  and 
he  began  to  make  it  a  study.  In  works  of  the  imagination  he 
read  De  Foe  and  Bunyan. 

This  good  resolution  was  his  second  step  up  on  the  ladder 
of  life. 

Others  were  contributing  to  his  brother  James's  paper, 
why  should  not  he?  But  James,  after  the  going  out  of  the 
poetic  meteor,  might  not  be  willing  to  consider  his  plain  prose. 

Benjamin  Franklin  has  now  written  an  article  in  plain 
prose,  which  he  wishes  to  appear  in  his  brother's  paper.  If 
it  were  accepted,  he  would  have  to  put  it  into  type  himself, 


LITTLE  BEN'S  ADVENTURES  AS  A  POET.  H7 

and  probably  to  deliver  the  paper  to  its  patrons.  He  is  sixteen 
years  old.  He  has  become  a  vegetarian,  and  lives  by  himself, 
and  seeks  pleasure  chiefly  in  books. 

It  is  night.  There  are  but  few  lamps  in  the  Boston  streets. 
With  a  manuscript  hidden  in  his  pocket  Benjamin  walks  slyly 
toward  the  office  of  James  Franklin,  Printer,  where  all  is  dark 
and  still.  He  looks  around,  tucks  his  manuscript  suddenly  un- 
der the  office  door,  turns  and  runs.  Oh,  how  he  does  glide  away! 
Is  he  a  genius  or  a  fool?  He  wonders  what  his  brother  will 
say  of  the  manuscript,  when  he  reads  it  in  the  morning. 

In  the  morning  he  went  to  his  work. 

Some  friends  of  James  came  into  the  office. 

"  I  have  found  something  here  this  morning,"  said  James, 
"  that  I  think  is  good.  It  was  tucked  under  the  door.  It  seems 
to  me  uncommonly  good.  You  must  read  it." 

He  handed  it  to  one  of  his  friends. 

"  That  is  the  best  article  I  have  read  for  a  long  time,"  said 
one  of  the  callers.  "  There  is  force  in  it.  It  goes  like  a  song 
that  whistles.  It  carries  you.  I  advise  you  to  use  it.  Every- 
body would  read  that  and  like  it.  I  wonder  who  wrote  it  ?  You 
should  find  out.  A  person  who  can  write  like  that  should  never 
be  idle.  He  was  born  to  write." 

James  handed  it  to  another  caller. 

"  There  are  brains  in  that  ink.  The  piece  flows  out  of  life. 
Who  do  you  think  wrote  it?  " 

"I  have  no  idea,"  said  James. — "Here,  Ben,  set  it  up. 
Here's  nuts  for  you.  If  I  knew  who  wrote  it  I  would  ask  the 
writer  to  send  in  other  articles." 

Benjamin  Franklin's  Autobiography  and  Charles  Dickens's 


118  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

novels  have  had  a  sale  equaled  by  a  few  books  in  the  world. 
The  two  authors  began  their  literary  life  in  a  like  manner,  by 
tucking  their  manuscripts  under  the  editor's  door  at  night  and 
running  away.  They  both  came  to  wonder  at  themselves  at 
finding  themselves  suddenly  people  of  interest.  Still,  we  could 
hardly  say  to  the  literary  candidate,  "  Fling  your  article  into 
the  editor's  room  at  night  and  run,"  though  modesty,  silence, 
and  prudence  are  commendable  in  a  beginner,  and  qualities 
that  win. 

What  pen  name  did  Ben  Franklin  sign  to  this  interesting 
article?  It  was  one  that  implies  his  purpose  in  life;  you  may 
read  his  biography  in  it — SILENCE  DOGOOD. 

The  day  after  the  name  of  Silence  Dogood  had  attracted  the 
attention  of  Boston  town,  Benjamin  said  to  Jane,  his  sympa- 
thetic little  sister: 

"  Jenny,  let's  go  to  walk  this  evening  upon  Beacon  Hill. 
I  have  something  to  tell  you." 

They  went  out  in  the  early  twilight  together,  up  the  brow 
of  the  hill  which  the  early  settlers  seem  to  have  found  a  black- 
berry pasture,  to  the  tree  where  they  had  gone  with  Uncle 
Benjamin  on  the  showery,  shining  midsummer  Sunday. 

"  Can  you  repeat  what  Uncle  Benjamin  said  to  us  here, 
two  years  ago  ?  "  asked  Ben. 

"  Xo;  it  was  too  long.  You  repeat  it  to  me  again  and  I 
will  learn  it." 

"  He  said,  '  More  than  wealth,  or  fame,  or  anything,  is  the 
power  of  the  human  heart,  and  that  that  power  is  developed  in 
seeking  the  good  of  others.'  Jenny,  what  did  father  say  when 
he  read  the  piece  by  Silence  Dogood  in  the  Courant?  " 


LITTLE  BEN'S  ADVENTURES  AS  A  POET.  119 

"He  clapped  his  hand  on  his  leather  breeches  so  that 
they  rattled;  he  did,  Ben,  and  he  exclaimed,  '  That  is  a  good 
one! '  and  he  read  the  piece  to  mother,  and  she  asked  him  who 
he  supposed  wrote  it,  and  she  shook  her  head,  and  he  said,  '  I 
wish  that  I  knew.' '• 

"  Would  you  like  to  know  who  wrote  it,  Jenny?  " 

"Yes.     Do  you  know?" 

"  7  wrote  it.  Jenny,  you  must  not  tell.  I  am  writing  an- 
other piece.  James  does  not  know.  I  tucked  the  manuscript 
under  the  door.  I  am  going  to  put  another  one  under  the  door 
at  night." 

"  0  Ben,  Ben,  you  will  be  a  great  man  yet,  and  I  hope  that 
I  will  live  to  see  it.  But  why  did  you  take  the  name  of  Si- 
knee  Dogood  "  ? 

"  That  carries  out  Uncle  Ben's  idea.  It  stands  for  seeking 
the  good  of  others  quietly.  That  name  is  what  I  would  like 
to  be." 

"  It  is  what  you  will  be,  Ben.  Uncle  would  say  that  the 
Franklin  heart  is  in  that  name.  If  you  should  ever  become  a 
big  man,  Ben,  and  I  should  come  to  see  you  when  we  are  old, 
I  will  say,  '  Silence  Dogood,  more  than  wealth,  more  than 
fame,  and  more  than  anything  else,  is  the  power  of  the  human 
heart.'  There,  I  have  quoted  it  correctly  now.  Maybe  the  day 
will  come.  Maybe  we  will  live  to  be  old,  and  you  will  write 
things  that  everybody  will  read,  and  I  will  take  care  of  father 
and  mother  while  you  go  out  into  the  world." 

"  Wherever  I  may  go,  and  whatever  I  may  become  or  fail 
to  be,  my  heart  will  always  be  true  to  you,  Jenny." 

"And  I  will  do  all  I  can  for  father  and  mother;  I  will  be 


120  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

your  heart  to  them,  so  that  you  may  give  your  time  to  your 
pen.  Every  one  in  a  family  should  seek  to  do  for  the  family 
what  others  lack  or  are  not  able  to  do.  You  can  write;  I  can 
not,  but,  Ben,  I  can  love." 

She  walked  about  the  wild  rose  bushes,  where  the  red- 
winged  blackbirds  were  singing. 

"  0  Ben,"  she  continued,  "  I  am  so  glad  that  you  wrote 
that  piece,  and  that  father  liked  it  so  well!  I  would  not  have 
been  more  glad  had  you  received  a  present  from  a  king.  Maybe 
you  will  receive  a  present  from  a  king  some  day,  if  you  write  as 
well  as  that." 

"  You  will  keep  the  secret,  Jenny?  " 

"  Yes,  Ben,  I  will  look  for  the  paper  to-morrow.  How  glad 
Uncle  Ben  would  be  if  he  knew  it.  Why,  Ben,  that  name, 
Silence  Dogood,  is  a  piece  in  itself.  It  is  a  picture  of  your 
heart.  You  are  just  like  Uncle  Ben,  Silence  Dogood." 

The  name  of  Silence  Dogood  became  famous  in  Boston 
town.  Jenny  obtained  Ben's  permission  to  tell  Uncle  Benja- 
min the  great  secret,  and  Uncle  Benjamin's  heart  was  so  de- 
lighted that  he  went  to  his  room  and  told  the  secret  "  to  the 
Lord." 

The  three  hearts  were  now  very,  very  happy  for  a  time. 
Jenny  was  growing  up  a  beautiful  girl,  and  her  thoughts  were 
much  given  to  her  hard-working  parents  and  to  laughed-at, 
laughing  little  Ben. 

When  Uncle  Benjamin  had  heard  of  Ben's  failure  as  a  poet 
and  success  as  Silence  Dogood,  he  took  him  down  to  Long 
Wharf  again. 

"  I  am  an  old  man,"  he  said.     "  But  here  I  have  a  lesson 


LITTLE  BEN'S  ADVENTURES  AS  A  POET.  121 

for  you.  If  you  are  conscious  that  you  have  any  gift,  even  in 
small  degree,  never  let  the  world  laugh  it  away.  See  '  that  no 
man  take  thy  crown,'  the  Scripture  says.  Every  one  who  has 
contributed  anything  to  the  progress  of  the  world  has  been 
laughed  at.  Stick  a  pin  in  thee,  Ben. 

"  Now,  Ben,  you  may  not  have  the  poet's  imagination  or  art, 
but  if  you  have  the  poetical  mind  do  not  be  laughed  out  of  an 
attempt  to  express  it.  You  may  not  become  a  poet;  I  do  not 
think  that  you  ever  will.  Perhaps  you  will  write  proverbs,  and 
proverbs  are  a  kind  of  poems.  I  am  going  to  reprove  Brother 
Josiah  for  what  he  has  said.  He  has  given  over  your  education  to 
me,  and  it  is  my  duty  to  develop  you  after  your  own  gifts. 

"  Let  us  go  back  to  the  shop.  I  want  to  have  a  talk  with 
Josiah;  but,  before  we  leave,  I  have  a  short  word  to  say  to  you. 

"  Hoi,  Ben,  hoi! — I  don't  know  what  makes  me  repeat  these 
words;  they  are  not  swear  words,  Ben,  but  they  come  to  me 
when  my  feelings  are  awakened. 

"It  is  hard,  hard  for  one  to  see  what  he  wants  to  be  and 
to  be  kept  back.  I  wanted  to  be  a  philosopher  and  a  poet. 
Don't  you  laugh,  Ben.  I  did;  I  wanted  to  be  both,  and  I  was 
so  poor  that  I  was  obliged  to  write  my  thoughts  on  the  mar- 
gin of  the  leaves  of  my  pamphlets,  which  I  sold  to  come  to 
teach  you.  Ben,  Ben,  listen:  I  can  never  be  a  philosopher  or  a 
poet,  but  you  may.  Don't  laugh,  Ben.  Don't  let  any  one 
laugh  you  out  of  your  best  ideas,  Ben.  You  may.  The  world 
will  never  read  what  I  wrote.  They  may  read  what  you  will 
write,  and  if  you  follow  my  ideas  and  they  are  read,  you  will  be 
content.  Hoi,  Ben,  hoi!  " 

They  went  to  the  candle  shop. 


122  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

"  Josiah,  you  do  wrong  to  try  to  suppress  Ben's  gift  at  rhyme. 
A  man  without  poetry  in  his  soul  amounts  to  no  more  than  a 
chopping  block.  The  world  just  hammers  itself  on  him,  and 
that  is  all.  You  would  not  make  .Ben  a  dunce!  " 

"  No,  brother,  no;  but  a  goose  is  not  a  nightingale,  and  the 
world  will  not  stop  to  listen  if  she  mounts  a  tree  and  attempts 
to  sing." 

"  No,  Brother  Josiah,  but  a  goose  that  would  like  to  sing  like 
a  nightingale  would  be  no  common  goose;  she  would  find  bet- 
ter pasture  than  other  geese.  Small  gifts  are  to  be  prized.  '  A 
little  diamond  is  worth  a  mountain  of  glass/  as  the  proverb 
says." 

"  Well,  if  you  must  write  poetry,  don't  publish  it  until  it  is 
called  for." 

"  Well,  Brother  Josiah,  your  advice  will  do  for  me,  for  I 
am  an  old  man;  but  I  must  teach  Ben  never  to  be  laughed 
out  of  any  good  idea  that  may  come  to  him.  Is  not  that  right, 
brother?" 

"  Yes,  Uncle  Ben.  But  you  can't  make  a  hen  soar  to  the 
skies  like  an  eagle.  If  you  are  not  a  poet,  you  have  a  per- 
fect character,  and  that  is  why  I  leave  the  training  of  Ben  to 
you.  If  you  can  make  a  man  of  him,  the  world  will  be  better 
for  him;  and  if  you  can  make  something  else  of  him  besides  a 
poet  out  of  his  poetical  gift,  I  shall  be  very  glad.  Your  poetry 
has  not  helped  you  in  life,  has  it,  Benjamin  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  You  think  it  is  that  that  has  made  me  a 
burden  to  you." 

Josiah  looked  his  brother  in  the  face. 

"A  burden?  No,  brother.  One  of  the  greatest  joys  of  my  life 


LITTLE  BEN'S  ADVENTURES  AS  A  POET.  123 

was  to  have  you  come  here,  and  it  will  be  the  greatest  blessing 
to  my  life  if  you  can  make  the  life  of  little  Ben  a  blessing 
to  the  world.  I  am  not  much  of  a  musician,  but  I  like  to  sound 
the  fiddle,  and  if  you  have  any  poetic  light,  let  it  shine — but 
as  a  tallow  dip,  like  my  fiddling.  You  are  right,  brother,  in 
teaching  little  Ben  never  to  be  laughed  down.  I  don't  blame 
any  one  for  crying  his  goods  if  he  has  anything  to  sell.  But 
if  he  has  not,  he  had  better  be  content  to  warm  his  hands  by  his 
own  fire." 

"  Brother  Josiah,  listen  to  me.  Little  Ben  here  has  some- 
thing to  sell. — Hoi,  Ben,  hoi!  you  listen. — There  have  thoughts 
come  to  me  that  I  know  did  not  rise  out  of  the  dust.  I  have 
been  too  poor  to  publish  them.  You  may  laugh  at  me,  and 
call  me  a  poor  philosopher  and  say  that  my  philosophy  has 
kept  me  poor.  But  Benjamin  here  is  going  to  give  my 
thoughts  to  the  world,  and  the  things  that  I  put  into  my  pam- 
phlets are  going  to  live.  It  was  not  you  that  gave  Ben  to  me: 
it  was  Heaven.  A  veil  hangs  over  us  in  this  world,  and  if  a 
man  does  good  in  his  heart,  the  hand  behind  that  veil  moves 
all  the  events  of  his  life  for  good. 

"  Don't  laugh  at  us,  Josiah:  we  are  weaving  together 
thoughts  that  will  feed  the  world.  That  we  are.— Hoi,  Ben, 
hoi!  " 

"  Well,  Brother,  your  faith  makes  you  a  happy  old  man.  I 
hope  that  you  will  be  able  to  make  something  of  Ben,  and  that 
he  may  do  credit  to  your  good  name.  It  may  be  so.  Faith 

sees. 

"  I  love  to  see  you  go  into  the  South  Church,  Brother.  As 
soon  as  your  face  appears  all  the  people  look  very  happy, 


124  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

and  sit  still.  The  children  all  sit  still.  The  tithingman  stands 
still;  he  has  nothing  to  do  for  a  time. 

"  It  is  something,  Brother  Ben,  to  be  able  to  cast  such  an 
influence  as  that — something  that  money  can  not  buy.  I  am 
sorrv  if  I  have  hurt  your  feelings.  Heaven  be  praised  for  such 
men  as  you  are,  Brother  Ben!  I  hope  that  I  may  live  to  see 
all  that  you  see  by  faith.  I  think  I  may,  Brother  Ben.  '  Men 
do  not  gather  grapes  of  thorns,  or  figs  of  thistles,'  but  they  do 
gather  grapes  of  grapes  and  figs  of  figs.  I  hope  that  Ben  will 
be  the  book  of  your  life,  and  make  up  for  the  pamphlets.  It 
would  be  a  good  book  for  men  to  read." 

"Hoi,  Ben,  hoi!"  said  the  old  man,  "I  can  see  that  it 
will." 

One  Sunday,  after  church,  in  summer,  Uncle  Ben  the  poet 
and  Silence  Dogood  went  down  on  Long  Wharf  to  enjoy  the 
breezes  from  the  sea.  Uncle  Ben  was  glad  to  learn  more  of 
the  literary  successes  of  Silence  Dogood. 

"  To  fail  in  poetry  is  to  succeed  in  prose,"  said  the  fine  old 
man.  "  But  much  that  we  call  prose  is  poetry;  rhymes  are  only 
childish  jingles.  The  greatest  poetry  in  the  world  is  written 
without  rhyme.  It  is  the  magic  spirit  and  the  magic  words  that 
make  true  poetry.  The  book  of  Job,  in  my  opinion,  is  the 
greatest  poetry  ever  written.  Poetry  is  not  made,  it  exists;  and 
one  who  is  prepared  to  receive  it  catches  it  as  it  flows.  Ben, 
you  are  going  to  succeed  in  prose.  You  are  going  to  become 
a  ready  writer.  Study  Addison  more  and  more." 

"  Uncle  Ben,  do  you  not  think  that  it  is  the  hardest  thing 
in  life  for  one  to  be  told  that  he  can  not  do  what  he  most  wants 
to  do?" 


LITTLE  BEN'S  ADVENTURES  AS  A  POET.  125 

"  Yes,  Ben,  that  is  the  hardest  thing  in  life.  It  is  a  cruel 
thing  to  crush  any  one  in  his  highest  hope  and  expectation." 

"  Was  Solomon  a  poet?     Are  the  Proverbs  poetry?  " 

"  Yes,  yes.     The  book  of  Proverbs  is  a  thousand  poems." 

"  Then,  Uncle  Ben,  I  may  be  a  poet  yet.  That  kind  of  little 
poems  come  to  me." 

"  Ha!  ha!  ha!  " 

A  voice  rang  out  behind  them. 

It  was  Jamie  the  Scotchman. 

"  Well,  Ben,  it  is  good  to  fly  high.  I  infer  that  you  expect 
to  become  a  proverb  poet,  after  the  manner  of  Solomon.  The 
people  here  will  all  be  quoting  you  some  day.  It  may  be 
that  you  will  be  quoted  in  England  and  France.  Ha!  ha!  ha! 
What  good  times,"  he  added,  "  you  two  have  together — 
dreaming!  Well,  it  costs  nothing  to  dream.  There  is  no  toll 
demanded  of  him  who  travels  in  the  clouds.  Move  along,  young 
Solomon,  and  let  me  sit  down  on  the  sea  wall  beside  you. 
When  you  write  a  book  of  proverb  poetry  I  hope  I'll  be  living 
to  read  it.  One  don't  make  a  silk  purse  out  of  a  sow's  ear — 
there's  a  proverb  for  you! — nor  gather  wisdom  except  by  experi- 
ence— there's  another;  and  some  folks  do  not  get  wisdom  even 
from  experience."  He  looked  suspiciously  toward  Uncle 
Ben. 

"  Experience  keeps  a  dear  school,"  said  Uncle  Ben  in  a 
kindly  way. 

'  "  And  some  people  can  learn  of  no  other,"  added  Silence 
Dogood. 

"  And  some  folks  not  even  there,"  said  Jamie  the  Scotch- 
man. 


126  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

The  loons  came  semicircling  along  the  sea  wall,  their  necks 
aslant,  and  uttering  cries  in  a  mocking  tone. 

"  Well,  I  declare,  it  makes  the  loons  laugh — and  no  won- 
der! "  said  Jamie  the  Scotchman.  He  lighted  his  pipe,  whose 
bowl  was  a  piece  of  corncob,  and  whiffed  away  in  silence  for  a 
time,  holding  up  one  knee  in  his  clasped  hands. 

Silence  Dogood  surveyed  his  surroundings,  which  were  ship 
cargoes. 

"  The  empty  bags  do  not  stand  up,"  he  said. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  infer  from  that  ?  "  asked  Jamie. 

Silence  Dogood  did  not  answer,  but  the  thought  in  his 
mind  was  evident.  It  was  simply  this:  that,  come  what  would 
in  life,  he  would  not  fail.  He  put  his  hand  on  Uncle  Benjamin's 
shoulder,  for  who  does  not  long  to  reach  out  his  hand  toward 
the  fire  in  the  cold,  and  to  touch  the  form  that  entemples  the 
most  sympathetic  heart?  He  dreamed  there  on  the  sea  wall, 
where  the  loons  seemed  to  laugh,  and  his  dreams  came  true. 
Every  attainment  in  life  is  first  a  dream. 

Silence  Dogood,  dream  on!  Add  intelligence  to  intelligence, 
virtue  to  virtue,  benevolence  to  benevolence,  faith  to  faith,  for 
so  ascends  the  ladder  of  life. 

Uncle  Benjamin  was  right.  Let  no  man  be  laughed  out  of 
ideals  that  are  true,  because  they  do  not  reach  their  develop- 
ment at  once. 

Many  young  people  'stand  in  the  situation  in  which  we  find 
young  Franklin  now.  Many  older  people  do  in  their  early 
work.  England  laughed  at  Boswell,  but  he  came  to  be  held  as 
the  prince  of  biographers,  and  his  methods  as  the  true  manner 
of  picturing  life  and  making  the  past  live  in  letters. 


LITTLE  BEN'S  ADVENTURES  AS  A  POET.  127 

People  with  a  purpose  who  have  heen  laughed  at  are  many 
in  the  history  of  the  world.  From  Romulus  and  the  builders 
of  the  walls  of  Jerusalem  to  Columbus,  ridicule  makes  a  long 
record,  and  the  world  does  not  seem  to  grow  wiser  by  its  mis- 
takes. Even  Edison,  in  our  own  day,  was  ridiculed,  when  a 
youth,  for  his  abstractions,  and  his  efforts  were  ignored  by 
scientists. 

Two  generations  ago  a  jeering  company  of  people,  uttering 
comical  jests  under  the  cover  of  their  hands,  went  down  to  a 
place  on  the  banks  of  the  Hudson  to  see,  as  they  said,  "  a  crazy 
man  attempt  to  move  a  boat  by  steam."  They  returned  with 
large  eyes  and  free  lips.  That  boat  moved. 

In  the  early  part  of  the  century  a  young  Scotchman  named 
Carlyle  laid  before  the  greatest  of  English  scholars  and  critics 
a  manuscript  entitled  Sartor  Resartus.  The  great  critic  read 
the  manuscript  and  pronounced  it  "  the  stupidest  stuff  that  he 
ever  set  eyes  on."  He  laughed  at  a  manuscript  that  became  one 
of  the  literary  masterpieces  of  the  century.  A  like  experience 
had  Milton,  when  he  once  said  that  he  would  write  a  poem  that 
should  be  the  glory  of  his  country. 

A  young  graduate  named  Longfellow  wrote  poems  that 
came  to  him  amid  the  woods  and  fields,  and  published  them 
in  newspapers  and  magazines,  and  gathered  them  into  a  book. 
The  book  fell  into  the  hands  of  one  then  held  to  be  supreme 
as  a  literary  judge — Edgar  Allen  Poe.  It  was  laughed  at  in  ink 
that  made  the  literary  world  laugh.  The  poet  Longfellow's 
bust  now  holds  an  ideal  place  in  Westminster  Abbey,  between 
the  memorials  of  Dryden  and  Chaucer,  and  at  the  foot  of  thev 
tombs  of  England's  kings. 


128  TEUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

Keats  was  laughed  at;  Wordsworth  was  deemed  a  fool. 

A  number  of  disdainful  doctors  met  on  October  16,  1846. 
in  the  amphitheater  of  the  Massachusetts  General  Hospital  in 
Boston,  to  see  a  young  medical  student  try  to  demonstrate 
that  a  patient  upon  whom  a  surgical  operation  was  to  be  per- 
formed could  be  rendered  insensible  to  pain.  The  sufferer 
was  brought  into  the  clear  light.  The  young  student  touched 
his  face  with  an  unknown  liquid  whose  strange  odor  filled  the 
room.  He  was  in  oblivion.  The  knives  cut  and  the  blood 
flowed,  and  he  knew  it  not.  Pain  was  thus  banished  from  the 
room  of  surgery.  That  young  medical  student  and  dentist 
was  Dr.  W.  T.  G.  Morton,  whose  monument  may  be  seen  in 
the  Boston  Public  Garden,  and  in  whose  honor  the  semicen- 
tennial of  the  discovery  of  anaesthesia  has  but  recently  been 
celebrated. 

"  So,  with  a  few  romantic  boys  and  crazy  girls  you  expect 
to  see  the  world  converted,"  said  a  wise  New  York  journal 
less  than  a  century  ago,  as  the  first  missionaries  began  to  sail 
away.  But  the  song  still  arose  over  the  sea — 

"  In  the  desert  let  me  labor, 
On  the  mountain  let  me  till" — 

until  there  came  a  missionary  jubilee,  whose  anthems  were 
repeated  from  land  to  land  until  they  encircled  the  earth. 

When  Browning  first  published  Sordello,  the  poem  met 
with  common  ridicule.  Even  Alfred  Tennyson  is  said  to  have 
remarked  that  "  there  were  but  two  lines  in  it  that  he  could 
understand,  and  they  were  both  untrue."  The  first  line  of  the 
%poem  was,  "  Who  will,  may  hear  Sordello's  story  told  ";  and 
the  last  line  of  the  poem  was,  "  Who  would,  has  heard  Sor- 


LITTLE  BEN'S  ADVENTURES  AS  A  POET. 

dello's  story  told."  Yet  the  poem  is  ranked  now  among  the 
intellectual  achievements  of  the  century  in  the  analysis  of  one 
of  the  deeper  problems  of  life. 

Samuel  F.  B.  Morse  was  laughed  at.  McCormick,  whose 
invention  reaps  the  fields  of  the  world,  was  ridiculed  hy  the 
London  Times,  "  the  Thunderer."  "  If  that  crazy  Wheelwright 
calls  again,  do  not  admit  him,"  said  a  British  consul  to  his 
servant,  of  one  who  wished  to  make  new  ports  and  a  new  com- 
merce for  South  America,  and  whose  plans  are  about  to  harness 
the  Andes  with  railways.  William  Wheelwright's  memory  lives 
in  grateful  statues  now. 

Columbus  was  not  only  laughed  at  by  the  Council  of  Sala- 
manca, but  was  jeered  at  by  the  children  in  the  streets,  as  he 
journeyed  from  town  to  town  holding  his  orphan  boy  by  the 
hand.  He  wandered  in  the  visions  of  God  and  the  stars,  and 
he  came  to  say,  after  the  shouts  of  homage  that  greeted  him 
as  the  viceroy  of  isles,  "  God  made  me  the  messenger  of  the 
new  heavens  and  new  earth,  and  told  me  where  to  find  them!  " 

Burton,  in  his  Anatomy  of  Melancholy,  presents  a  picture 
of  the  unfortunate  condition  of  many  lives  of  whom  the  world 
expected  nothing,  and  for  whom  it  had  only  the  smile  of  in- 
credulity when  in  them  the  Godlike  purpose  appeared.  He 
says: 

"  Hannibal  had  but  one  eye;  Appius  Claudius  and  Timoleon 
were  blind,  as  were  John,  King  of  Bohemia,  and  Tiresais  the 
prophet.  Homer  was  blind;  yet  who,  saith  Tully,  made  more 
accurate,  lively,  or  better  descriptions  with  both  his  eyes! 
Democritus  was  blind,  yet,  as  Laertius  writes  of  him,  he  saw 
more  than  all  Greece  besides.  .  .  .  ^sop  was  crooked,  Socrates 


130  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

purblind,  Democritus  withered,  Seneca  lean  and  harsh,  ugly 
to  behold;  yet  show  me  so  many  nourishing  wits,  such  divine 
spirits.  Horace,  a  little,  blear-eyed,  contemptible  fellow,  yet 
who  so  sententious  and  wise?  Marcilius  Ficinus,  Faber  Stapu- 
lensis,  a  couple  of  dwarfs;  Melanchthon,  a  short,  hard-favored 
man,  yet  of  incomparable  parts  of  all  three;  Galba  the  emperor 
was  crook-backed;  Epictetus,  lame;  the  great  Alexander  a 
little  man  of  stature;  Augustus  Caesar,  of  the  same  pitch; 
Agesilaus,  despicabili  forma,  one  of  the  most  deformed  princes 
that  Egypt  ever  had,  was  yet,  in  wisdom  and  knowledge,  far 
beyond  his  predecessors." 

Why  do  I  call  your  attention  to  these  struggles  in  this 
place  in  association  of  an  incident  of  a  failure  in  life  that  was 
ridiculed  ? 

It  has  been  my  lot,  in  a  somewhat  active  life  in  the  city  of 
Boston  for  twenty-five  years,  to  meet  every  day  an  inspiring 
name  that  all  the  world  knows,  and  that  stands  for  what  right 
resolution,  the  overcoming  of  besetting  sins  in  youth,  and  per- 
severing energy  may  accomplish  against  the  ridicule  of  the 
world.  There  have  been  many  books  written  having  that 
name  as  a  title — FEANKLIN. 

I  have  almost  daily  passed  the  solemn,  pyramidal  monu- 
ment in  the  old  Granary  Burying  Ground,  between  the  Tre- 
mont  Building  and  Park  Street  Church,  that  bears  the  names 
of  the  Franklin  family,  in  which  the  parents  have  found 
eternal  honor  by  the  achievements  of  their  son. 

As  I  pass  the  Boston  City  Hall  there  appears  the  Franklin 
statue. 

As  I  face  the  Old  South  Church  and  its  ancient  neighbor- 


LITTLE  BEN'S  ADVENTURES  AS  A  POET.  131 

hood  I  am  in  the  place  of  the  traditions  of  the  birth  of  Ben- 
jamin Franklin  and  of  his  baptism.  It  may  be  that  I  will  re- 
turn by  the  way  of  Franklin  Street,  or  visit  the  Franklin 
School,  or  go  to  the  Mechanics'  Building,  where  I  may  see  the 
primitive  printing  press  at  which  Franklin  worked,  and  which 
was  buried  in  the  earth  at  Newport,  Rhode  Island,  at  the  time  of 
the  Revolutionary  War. 

If  I  go  to  the  Public  Library,  I  may  find  there  two  original 
portraits  of  Franklin  and  a  Franklin  gallery,  and  a  picture  of 
him  once  owned  by  Thomas  Jefferson. 

If  I  go  to  the  Memorial  Hall  at  Harvard  College,  I  will  there 
see  another  portrait  of  the  philosopher  in  the  grand  gallery 
of  noble  men.  Or  I  may  go  to  Boston's  wide  pleasure  ground, 
the  Franklin  Park,  by  an  electric  car  made  possible  by  the  dis- 
coveries of  Franklin. 

Nearly  all  of  Franklin's  early  efforts  were  laughed  at,  but 
he  would  not  be  laughed  down.  Time  is  the  friend  of  every 
true  purpose. 

Boys  with  a  purpose,  face  the  future,  do  good  in  silence,  and 
trust.  You  will  find  some  Uncle  Benjamin  and  sister  Jenny 
to  hold  you  by  the  hand.  Be  in  dead  earnest,  and  face  the 
future,  and  forward  march!  The  captains  of  industry  and  the 
leaders  of  every  achievement  say,  "  Guide  right!  Turn  to  the 
right,  and  advance! " 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

LEAVES    BOSTON*. 

THESE  were  fine  old  times,  but  they  were  English  times; 
English  ideas  ruled  Boston  town.  There  was  little  liberty  of 
opinion  or  of  the  press  in  those  days.  The  Franklins  be- 
longed to  a  few  families  who  hoped  to  find  in  the  province  free- 
dom of  thought.  James  Franklin  was  a  testy  man,  but  he 
breathed  free  air,  and  one  da}'  in  his  paper,  the  Courant,  he 
published  the  following  simple  sentences,  the  like  of  which  any 
one  might  print  anywhere  in  the  civilized  world  to-day:  "  If 
Almighty  God  will  have  Canada  subdued  without  the  assistance 
of  those  miserable  Savages,  in  whom  we  have  too  much  confi- 
dence, we  shall  be  glad  that  there  will  be  no  sacrifices  offered 
up  to  the  Devil  upon  the  occasion;  God  alone  will  have  all  the 
glory." 

What  had  he  done?  He  had  protested  against  the  use  of 
Indians  in  the  war  then  being  waged  against  Canada. 

He  was  arrested  on  a  charge  that  the  article  in  which  this 
paragraph  appeared,  and  some  like  articles.  "  contained  reflec- 
tions of  a  very  high  nature."  He  was  sentenced  to  a  month's 
imprisonment  and  forbidden  to  publish  the  paper.  So  James 
went  to  jail,  and  he  left  the  management  of  the  paper  to  Benja- 
min. 

132 


LEAVES  BOSTON.  133 

This  incident  gives  us  a  remarkable  view  of  the  times.  But 
Boston  was  only  following  the  English  law  and  custom. 

The  printing  office  was  now  carried  on  in  Benjamin's  name. 
Little  Ben  grew  and  nourished,  until  his  popularity  excited  the 
envy  of  his  brother.  One  day  they  quarreled,  and  James,  al- 
most in  the  spirit  of  Cain,  struck  his  bright,  enterprising  ap- 
prentice. Benjamin  had  a  proud  heart.  He  would  not  stand 
a  blow  from  James  without  a  protest.  What  was  he  to  do? 

He  resolved  to  leave  the  office  of  his  brother  James  forever. 
He  did  so,  and  tried  to  secure  work  elsewhere.  His  brother's 
influence  prevented  him  from  doing  this.  His  resentment 
against  his  brother  grew  more  bitter,  and  blinded  him  to  all 
besides.  This  was  conduct  unworthy  of  a  young  philosopher. 
In  his  resentment  he  does  not  seem  to  have  regarded  the  feel- 
ings of  his  good  father,  or  the  heart  of  his  mother  that  would 
ache  and  find  relief  in  tears  at  night,  nor  even  of  Jenny,  whom 
he  loved.  He  took  a  sloop  for  New  York,  and  bade  good-by 
to  no  one.  The  sail  dipped  down  the  harbor,  and  the  three 
hills  of  Boston  faded  from  his  view. 

He  was  now  on  the  ocean,  and  out  in  the  world  alone.  We 
are  sorry  to  say  that  he  faced  life  with  such  a  deep  resentment 
toward  his  brother  in  his  heart.  He  afterward  came  to  regard 
his  going  away  in  this  manner  as  one  of  the  mistakes  of  his  life 
which  he  would  wish  to  correct.  His  better  heart  came  back 
again,  true  to  his  home. 

He  was  not  popular  in  Boston  in  his  last  days  there.  New 
influences  had  come  into  his  life.  He  had  loved  argument  and 
disputation,  and  there  is  a  subtile  manner  of  discussion  called 

the  "  Socratic  method,"  which   he   had  found  in   Xenophon, 
10 


134:  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

in  which  one  confuses  an  opponent  by  asking  questions  and 
never  making  direct  assertions  himself.,  but  using  the  sub- 
junctive mood.  It  is  an  art  of  entanglement.  The  boy  had 
delighted  in  "  twisting  people  all  up,"  and  making  them  contra- 
dict themselves  after  a  perversion  of  the  manner  described  by 
Xenophon  in  his  Life  of  Socrates. 

As  religion  and  politics  formed  the  principal  subjects  of 
these  discussions,  and  he  liked  to  take  the  unpopular  view  in 
order  to  throw  his  mental  antagonist,  he  had  fallen  into  dis- 
favor, to  which  disesteem  his  brother's  charges  against  him 
had  added.  These  things  made  Jenny's  heart  ache,  but  she 
never  ceased  to  believe  in  Ben. 

Few  boys  ever  left  the  city  in  provincial  times  with  less 
promise  of  any  great  future,  so  far  as  public  opinion  is  con- 
cerned. But,  notwithstanding  these  errors  of  judgment,  he 
still  carried  with  him  a  purpose  of  being  a  benefactor,  and  his 
dream  was  to  help  the  world.  The  star  of  this  purpose  ever 
shone  before  him  in  the  deserts  of  his  wanderings. 

But  how  was  he  to  succeed,  after  thus  following  his  own 
personal  feeling  in  matters  like  these?  By  correcting  his  own 
errors  as  soon  as  he  saw  them,  and  never  repeating  them  again. 
This  he  did;  he  openly  acknowledged  his  faults,  and  tried  to 
make  amends  for  them.  He  who  confesses  his  errors,  and 
seeks  to  retrieve  them,  has  a  heart  and  purpose  that  the  pub- 
lic will  love.  But  it  is  a  higher  and  nobler  life  not  to  fall  into 
such  errors. 

This  was  about  the  year  1723.  A  curious  incident  hap- 
pened on  the  voyage  to  New  York.  Young  Franklin  had  be- 
come a  vegetarian — that  is,  he  had  been  convinced  that  it  was 


LEAVES  BOSTON. 

wrong  to  kill  animals  for  food,  and  wrong  to  eat  flesh  of  any 
kind. 

The  ship  became  becalmed,  and  the  sailors  betook  them- 
selves to  fishing.  Franklin  loved  to  argue  still,  notwithstand- 
ing his  unhappy  experiences. 

"  Fishing  is  murder,"  said  he.  «  Why  should  these  inhab- 
itants of  the  sea  be  deprived  of  their  lives  and  opportunities  of 
enjoyment?  They  have  never  done  any  one  harm,  and  they 
live  the  lives  for  which  Xature  made  &em.  They  have  the 
same  right  to  liberty  that  they  have  to  life." 

This  indicated  a  true  heart.  But  when  the  steward  began 
to  cook  the  fish  that  the  sailors  had  caught,  the  frying  of  them 
did  have  a  savory  smell. 

Young  Franklin  now  began  to  be  tempted  from  theory  by 
appetite.  How  could  he  get  over  his  principles  and  share  the 
meal  with  the  sailors?  The  cook  seized  a  large  fish  to  prepare 
it  for  the  frying-pan.  As  he  cut  off  its  head  and  opened  him 
he  found  in  him  a  little  fish. 

"  So  you  eat  fish,"  said  Franklin,  addressing  the  prize; 
"  then  why  may  I  not  eat  you  ?  "  He  did  so,  and  from  this  time 
left  off  his  vegetarian  habits,  which  habits,  like  his  aspiration  to 
be  a  poet,  did  credit  to  his  heart. 

His  argument  in  this  case  had  no  force.  The  fish  had  not 
a  moral  nature,  and  because  an  animal  or  reptile  without  such 
a  nature  should  eat  other  animals  or  reptiles  would  furnish  no 
reason  why  a  being  governed  by  laws  outside  of  himself  should 
do  the  same. 

October  found  him  in  Xew  York,  a  Dutch  town  of  less  than 
ten  thousand  inhabitants.  He  was  about  eighteen  years  of 


136  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

age.  New  York  then  had  little  in  common  with  the  city  of 
to-day.  Its  streets  were  marked  by  gable  ends  and  cobble 
stones.  Franklin  applied  for  work  to  a  printer  there,  and  the 
latter  commended  him  to  go  to  Philadelphia.  He  followed  the 
advice,  going  by  sea,  friendless  and  forlorn,  with  only  a  few 
shillings  in  his  pocket. 

He  helped  row  the  boat  across  the  Delaware.  He  offered 
the  boatman  his  fare. 

"  No,"  said  the  boatman,  "  I  ought  to  take  nothing;  you 
helped  row." 

Franklin  had  just  one  silver  dollar  and  a  shilling  in  copper 
coin.  He  insisted  that  the  ferryman  should  take  the  coin.  He 
said  of  this  liberal  sense  of  honor  afterward  that  one  is  "  some- 
times more  generous  when  he  has  little  money  than  when  he 
has  plenty." 

Philadelphia,  the  city  of  Penn,  now  rose  before  him, 
and  he  entered  it  a  friendless  lad,  whom  none  knew  and  few 
could  have  noticed.  Would  any  one  then  have  dreamed  that 
he  would  one  day  become  the  governor  of  the  province? 

Benjamin  Franklin  had  now  found  the  world  indeed,  and 
his  brother  James  had  lost  the  greatest  apprentice  that  the 
world  ever  had.  Both  were  blind.  Each  had  needed  that  early 
training  that  develops  the  spiritual  powers,  and  makes  it  a  de- 
light to  say  "  Xo  *'  to  all  the  lower  passions  of  human  nature. 

.  Josiah  and  Abiah  Franklin  had  had  great  hopes  of  little 
Ben.  The  boy  had  a  large  brain  and  a  tender  heart.  From 
their  point  of  view  they  had  trained  him  well.  They  had  sent 
him  to  the  Old  South  Church  and  had  made  him  the  subject 
of  their  daily  prayers.  In  fact,  these  good  people  had  done  their 


LEAVES  BOSTON.  137 

best  to  make  him  a  "  steady  boy,"  according  to  their  light.  The 
education  of  the  inner  life  was  like  a  sealed  book  to  them.  But 
they  were  yet  people  upon  whom  a  larger  light  was  breaking. 
The  poor  old  soap  and  candle  maker  went  on  with  his  business 
at  the  Blue  Ball  with  a  heavy  heart. 

"  Gone,  gone,"  said  Jamie  the  Scotchman.  "  He'll  find  prov- 
erbs enough  on  his  way  of  life.  This  is  a  hard  world,  but  he 
has  a  heart  to  return  to  the  right.  I  pity  good  Abiah  Frank- 
lin, but  we  often  have  to  trust  where  we  can  not  see." 


CHAPTEE  XX. 

LAUGHED    AT    AGAIX. 

FBANKLIN'S  first  day  in  Philadelphia  is  well  known  to  the 
world.  He  has  related  it  in  Addisoniaii  English,  and  it  has 
been  read  almost  as  widely  as  the  adventures  of  Robinson  Cru- 
soe or  Bunyan's  Pilgrim's  Progress. 

"We  must  give  a  part  of  the  narrative  here  in  his  own  lan- 
guage, for  a  merry  girl  is  about  to  laugh  at  the  Boston  boy  as 
she  sees  him  pass,  and  he  will  cause  this  lovely  girl  to  laugh 
with  him  many  times  in  his  rising  career  and  in  different 
spirit  from  that  on  the  occasion  when  she  first  beheld  him,  the 
awkward  and  comical-looking  boy  wandering  he  knew  not 
where  on  the  street. 

Let  us  follow  him  through  his  own  narrative  until  he  meets 
the  eyes  of  Deborah  Read,  a  fair  lass  of  eighteen. 

On  his  arrival  at  Philadelphia,  he  tells  us,  he  was  in  his 
working  dress;  his  best  clothes  were  to  come  by  sea.  He  was 
covered  with  dirt;  his  pockets  were  filled  with  shirts  and  stock- 
ings. He  was  unacquainted  with  a  single  soul  in  the  place,  and 
knew  not  where  to  seek  for  a  lodging.  Fatigued  with  walking, 
rowing,  and  having  passed  the  night  without  sleep,  he  was  ex- 
tremely hungry,  and  all  his  money  consisted  of  a  Dutch  dollar 

138 


LAUGHED  AT  AGAIN.  139 

and  about  a  shilling's  worth  of  coppers,  which  latter  he  gave 
to  the  boatman  for  his  passage. 

He  walked  toward  the  top  of  the  street,  looking  eagerly  on 
both  sides,  till  he  came  to  Market  Street,  where  he  met  with 
a  child  with  a  loaf  of  bread.  Often  he  had  made  his  dinner 
on  dry  bread.  He  inquired  of  the  child  where  he  had  bought 
the  bread,  and  went  straight  to  the  baker's  shop  which  the  lat- 
ter pointed  out  to  him.  He  asked  for  some  biscuits, -expecting 
to  find  such  as  they  had  in  Boston;  but  they  made,  it  seems, 
none  of  that  sort  in  Philadelphia.  He  then  asked  for  a  three- 
penny loaf.  They  made  no  loaves  of  that  price.  Finding  him- 
self ignorant  of  the  prices  as  well  as  of  the  different  kinds  of 
bread,  he  desired  the  baker  to  let  him  have  threepenny  worth 
of  bread  of  some  kind  or  other.  The  baker  gave  him 
three  large  rolls.  He  was  surprised  at  receiving  so  much;  he 
took  them,  however,  and  having  no  room  in  his  pockets,  he 
walked  on  with  a  roll  under  each  arm,  eating  the  third.  In 
this  manner  he  went  through  Market  Street  to  Fourth  Street, 
and  passed  the  house  of  Mr.  Read,  the  father  of  his  future  wife. 
The  girl  was  standing  at  the  door,  observed  him,  and  thought 
with  reason  that  he  made  a  very  singular  and  grotesque  appear- 
ance, and  laughed  merrily.  "We  repeat  the  many-times-told  tale 
in  nearly  his  own  words. 

So  here  we  find  our  young  adventurer  laughed  at  again. 
\Ve  can  fancy  the  young  girl  standing  on  her  father's  doorsteps 
on  that  mellow  autumn  day.  There  comes  up  the  street  a  lad 
with  two  rolls  of  bread  under  his  arm,  and  eating  a  third  roll, 
his  pockets  full  of  the  simpler  necessities  of  clothing,  which  must 
have  made  him  look  like  a  ragman;  everything  about  him  was 


140  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

queer  and  seemingly  wrong.  She  may  have  seen  that  he  was 
just  from  the  boat,  and  a  traveler,  but  when  did  ever  a  traveler 
look  so  entirely  out  of  his  senses  as  this  one  did? 

Never  mind,  Ben  Franklin.  You  will  one  day  stand  in 
Versailles  in  the  velvet  robes  of  state,  and  the  French  king  will 
give  you  his  portrait  framed  in  four  hundred  and  eight  dia- 
monds. 

"  I  then  turned  the  corner,"  he  continues,  "  and  went 
through  Chestnut  Street,  eating  my  roll  all  the  way;  and  having 
made  this  round,  I  found  myself  again  on  Market  Street  Wharf, 
near  the  boat  in  which  I  arrived.  I  stepped  into  it  to  take  a 
draught  of  river  water,  and  finding  myself  satisfied  with  my 
first  roll,  I  gave  the  other  two  to  a  woman  and  her  child  who 
had  come  down  the  river  with  us  in  the  boat  and  was  waiting 
to  continue  her  journey.  Thus  refreshed,  I  regained  the 
street,  which  was  now  full  of  well-dressed  people,  all  going  the 
same  way.  I  joined  them,  and  was  thus  led  to  a  large  Quakers' 
meeting-house  near  the  market-place.  I  sat  down  with  the 
rest,  and,  after  looking  round  me  for  some  time,  hearing  noth- 
ing said,  and  being  drowsy  from  my  last  night's  labor  and  want 
of  rest,  I  fell  into  a  sound  sleep.  In  this  state  I  continued 
till  the  assembly  dispersed,  when  one  of  the  congregation  had 
the  goodness  to  wake  me.  This  was  consequently  the  first 
house  I  entered  or  in  which  I  slept  at  Philadelphia. 

"  I  began  again  to  walk  along  the  streets  by  the  riverside,  and, 
looking  attentively  in  the  face  of  every  one  I  met  with,  I  at 
length  perceived  a  young  Quaker  whose  countenance  pleased 
me.  I  accosted  him,  and  begged  him  to  inform  me  where  a 
stranger  might  find  a  lodging.  We  were  then  near  the  sign  of 


LAUGHED  AT  AGAIN.  141 

the  Three  Mariners.  '  They  receive  travelers  here/  said  he, 
*  but  it  is  not  a  house  that  bears  a  good  character.  If  you  will 
go  with  me  I  will  show  you  a  better  one.'  He  conducted  me  to 
the  Crooked  Billet,  in  Water  Street.  There  I  ordered  some- 
thing for  dinner,  and  during  my  meal  a  number  of  curious 
questions  were  put  to  me,  my  youth  and  appearance  exciting 
the  suspicion  of  my  being  a  young  runaway.  After  dinner 
my  drowsiness  returned,  and  I  threw  myself  upon  a  bed  with- 
out taking  off  my  clothes,  and  slept  till  six  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  when  I  was  called  to  supper.  I  afterward  went  to 
bed  at  a  very  early  hour,  and  did  not  awake  till  the  next 
'morning. 

"As  soon  as  I  got  up  I  put  myself  in  as  decent  a  trim  as  I 
could,  and  went  to  the  house  of  Andrew  Bradford,  the  printer. 
I  found  his  father  in  the  shop,  whom  I  had  seen  at  New  York. 
Having  traveled  on  horseback,  he  had  arrived  at  Philadelphia 
before  me.  He  introduced  me  to  his  son,  who  received  me 
with  civility  and  gave  me  some  breakfast,  but  told  me  he  had 
no  occasion  at  present  for  a  journeyman,  having  lately  pro- 
cured one.  He  added  that  there  was  another  printer  newly 
settled  in  the  town,  of  the  name  of  Keimer,  who  might  per- 
haps employ  me,  and  that  in  case  of  refusal  I  should  be  wel- 
come to  lodge  at  his  house.  He  would  give  me  a  little  work  now 
and  then  till  something  better  should  be  found. 

"  The  old  man  offered  to  introduce  me  to  the  new  printer. 
When  we  were  at  his  house,  '  Neighbor,'  said  he,  '  I  bring  you 
a  young  man  in  the  printing  business;  perhaps  you  may  have 
need  of  his  services.' 

"  Keimer  asked  me  some  questions,  put  a  composing  stick 


TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

in  my  hand  to  see  how  I  could  work,  and  then  said  that  at 
present  he  had  nothing  for  me  to  do,  but  that  he  should  soon 
be  able  to  employ  me.  At  the  same  time  taking  old  Brad- 
ford for  an  inhabitant  of  the  town  well  disposed  toward  him, 
he  communicated  his  project  to  him  and  the  prospect  he  had  of 
success.  Bradford  was  careful  not  to  discover  that  he  was  the 
father  of  the  other  printer;  and  from  what  Keimer  had  said, 
that  he  hoped  shortly  to  be  in  possession  of  the  greater  part 
of  the  business  of  the  town,  led  him,  by  artful  questions  and 
by  starting  some  difficulties,  to  disclose  all  his  views,  what  his 
hopes  were  founded  upon,  and  how  he  intended  to  proceed.  I 
was  present  and  heard  it  all.  I  instantly  saw  that  one  of  the 
two  was  a  cunning  old  fox  and  the  other  a  perfect  novice. 
Bradford  left  me  with  Keimer,  who  was  strangely  surprised 
when  I  informed  him  who  the  old  man  was. 

"  I  found  Keimer's  printing  materials  to  consist  of  an  old, 
damaged  press  and  a  small  font  of  worn-out  English  letters, 
with  which  he  himself  was  at  work  upon  an  elegy  upon 
Aquilla  Eose,  an  ingenious  young  man  and  of  excellent 
character,  highly  esteemed  in  the  town,  Secretary  to  the 
Assembly  and  a  very  tolerable  poet.  Keimer  also  made 
verses,  but  they  were  indifferent  ones.  He  could  not  be 
said  to  write  in  verse,  for  his  method  was  to  set  the  lines  as  they 
followed  from  his  muse;  and  as  he  worked  without  copy,  had 
but  one  set  of  letter  cases,  and  as  the  elegy  would  occupy  all  his 
types,  it  was  impossible  for  any  one  to  assist  him.  I  endeav- 
ered  to  put  his  press  in  order,  which  he  had  not  yet  used,  and 
of  which  indeed  he  understood  nothing;  and,  having  promised 
to  come  and  work  off  his  elegy  as  soon  as  it  should  be  ready, 


LAUGHED  AT  AGAIN.  143 

I  returned  to  the  house  of  Bradford,  who  gave  me  some 
trifles  to  do  for  the  present,  for  which  I  had  my  board  and 
lodging. 

"  In  a  few  days  Keimer  sent  for  me  to  print  off  his  elegy. 
He  had  now  procured  another  set  of  letter  cases,  and  had  a 
pamphlet  to  reprint,  upon  which  he  set  me  to  work. 

"  The  two  Philadelphia  printers  appeared  destitute  of  every 
qualification  necessary  in  their  profession.  Bradford  had  not 
been  brought  up  to  it,  and  was  very  illiterate.  Keimer,  though 
he  understood  a  little  of  the  business,  was  merely  a  compositor, 
and  wholly  incapable  of  working  at  press.  He  had  been  one  of 
the  French  prophets,  and  knew  how  to  imitate  their  super- 
natural agitations.  At  the  time  of  our  first  acquaintance  he 
professed  no  particular  religion,  but  a  little  of  all  upon  occasion. 
He  was  totally  ignorant  of  the  world,  and  a  great  knave  at 
heart,  as  I  had  afterward  an  opportunity  of  experiencing. 

"  Keimer  could  not  endure  that,  working  with  him,  I 
should  lodge  at  Bradford's.  He  had  indeed  a  house,  but  it 
was  unfurnished,  so  that  he  could  not  take  me  in.  He  pro- 
cured me  a  lodging  at  Mr.  Read's,  his  landlord,  whom  I  have 
already  mentioned.  My  trunk  and  effects  being  now  arrived, 
I  thought  of  making,  in  the  eyes  of  Miss  Read,  a  more  re- 
spectable appearance  than  when  chance  exhibited  me  to  her 
view,  eating  my  roll  and  wandering  in  the  streets. 

"  From  this  period  I  began  to  contract  acquaintance  with 
such  young  people  as  were  fond  of  reading,  and  spent  my  even- 
ings with  them  agreeably,  while  at  the  same  time  I  gained 
money  by  my  industry,  and,  thanks  to  my  frugality,  lived  con- 
tentedly. I  thus  forgot  Boston  as  much  as  possible,  and  wished 


144:  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

every  one  to  be  ignorant  of  the  place  of  my  residence,  ex- 
cept my  friend  Collins,  to  whom  I  wrote,  and  who  kept  my 
secret. 

"  An  accident, however, happened  which  sent  me  home  much 
sooner  than  I  proposed.  I  had  a  brother-in-law,  of  the  name 
of  Robert  Holmes,  master  of  a  trading  sloop  from  Boston  to 
Delaware.  Being  at  Newcastle,  forty  miles  below  Philadel- 
phia, he  heard  of  me,  and  wrote  to  inform  me  of  the  chagrin 
which  my  sudden  departure  from  Boston  had  occasioned  my 
parents,  and  of  the  affection  which  they  still  entertained  for 
me,  assuring  me  that,  if  I  would  return,  everything  should  be 
adjusted  to  my  satisfaction;  and  he  was  very  pressing  in  his 
entreaties.  I  answered  his  letter,  thanked  him  for  his  advice, 
and  explained  the  reasons  which  had  induced  me  to  quit  Bos- 
ton with  such  force  and  clearness  that  he  was  convinced  I  had 
been  less  to  blame  than  he  had  imagined. 

"  Sir  William  Keith,  Governor  of  the  province,  was  at  New- 
castle at  the  time.  Captain  Holmes,  being  by  chance  in  his 
company  when  he  received  my  letter,  took  occasion  to  speak 
of  me  and  showed  it  to  him.  The  Governor  read  it,  and  ap- 
peared surprised  when  he  learned  of  my  age.  He  thought  me, 
he  said,  a  young  man  of  very  promising  talents,  and  that  of 
consequence  I  ought  to  be  encouraged;  that  there  were  at  Phil- 
adelphia none  but  very  ignorant  printers,  and  that  if  I  were  to 
set  up  for  myself  he  had  no  doubt  of  my  success;  that,  for  his 
own  part,  he  would  procure  me  all  the  public  business,  and 
would  render  me  every  other  service  in  his  power.  My 
brother-in-law  related  all  this  to  me  afterward  at  Boston,  but  I 
knew  nothing  of  it  at  the  time.  When,  one  day,  Keimer  and  I 


LAUGHED  AT  AGAIN.  145 

being  at  work  together  near  the  window,  we  saw  the  Governor 
and  another  gentleman,  Colonel  French,  of  Newcastle,  hand- 
somely dressed,  cross  the  street  and  make  directly  for  our  house. 
We  heard  them  at  the  door,  and  Keimer,  believing  it  to  be  a  visit 
to  himself,  went  immediately  down;  but  the  Governor  inquired 
for  me,  came  upstairs,  and,  with  a  condescension  and  polite- 
ness to  which  I  had  not  at  all  been  accustomed,  paid  me  many 
compliments,  desired  to  be  acquainted  with  me,  obligingly  re- 
proached me  for  not  having  made  myself  known  to  him  on  my 
arrival  in  the  town,  and  wished  me  to  accompany  him  to  a  tav- 
ern, where  he  and  Colonel  French  were  going  to  have  some  ex- 
cellent Madeira  wine. 

"  I  was,  I  confess,  somewhat  surprised,  and  Keimer  appeared 
thunderstruck.  I  went,  however,  with  the  Governor  and  the 
colonel  to  a  tavern  at  the  corner  of  Third  Street,  where  he  pro- 
posed to  me  to  establish  a  printing  house.  He  set  forth  the 
probabilities  of  success,  and  himself  and  Colonel  French  assured 
me  that  I  should  have  their  protection  and  influence  in  obtain- 
ing the  printing  of  the  public  papers  of  both  governments;  and 
as  I  appeared  to  doubt  whether  my  father  would  assist  me  in 
this  enterprise,  Sir  William  said  that  he  would  give  me  a  letter 
to  him,  in  which  he  would  represent  the  advantages  of  the 
scheme  in  a  light  which  he  had  no  doubt  would  determine 
him.  It  was  thus  concluded  that  I  should  return  to  Bos- 
ton by  the  first  vessel  with  the  letter  of  recommendation 
from  the  Governor  to  my  father.  Meanwhile  the  project 
was  to  be  kept  secret,  and  I  continued  to  work  for  Keimer 
as  before. 

"  The  Governor  sent  every  now  and  then  to  invite  me  to 


146  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

dine  with  him.  I  considered  this  a  very  great  honor,  and  I 
was  the  more  sensible  of  it  as  he  conversed  with  me  in  the  most 
affable,  familiar,  and  friendly  manner  imaginable. 

"  Toward  the  end  of  April,  1724,  a  small  vessel  was  ready 
to  sail  for  Boston.  I  took  leave  of  Keimer  upon  the  pretext  of 
going  to  see  my  parents.  The  Governor  gave  me  a  long  letter, 
in  which  he  said  many  flattering  things  of  me  to  my  father, 
and  strongly  recommended  the  project  of  my  settling  at 
Philadelphia  as  a  thing  which  could  not  fail  to  make  my 
fortune." 

What  is  there  prophetic  of  a  great  life  in  this  homely  nar- 
rative? Eead  over  again  the  incident  of  the  three  rolls,  one  of 
which  he  ate,  and  two  of  which  he  gave  to  the  poor  woman 
and  her  child  who  needed  them  more  than  he.  All  his  money  on 
that  day  was  one  silver  dollar.  In  that  incident  we  see  the 
heart  and  the  persistent  purpose  to  do  good.  He  had  made 
mistakes,  but  the  resolution  that  he  had  made  on  reading 
Cotton  Mather's  meaty  book  was  unshaken.  He  would  correct 
his  errors  and  yield  to  his  better  nature,  and  this  purpose  to 
help  others  would  grow,  and  so  he  would  overcome  evil  with 
good. 

He  who  helps  one  helps  two.  The  poor  woman  may 
never  have  been  heard  of  in  public,  except  in  this  story,  but 
that  act  of  sharing  the  rolls,  with  one  for  the  little  child, 
made  Ben  Franklin  a  larger  man.  "  The  purpose  of  life  is 
to  grow." 

Benjamin  Franklin  is  now  a  seed  in  the  wind,  but  he  is  a 
good  seed  in  the  wind — good  at  heart,  with  a  right  pur- 
pose. The  stream  of  life  is  turned  aside,  but  it  will  flow 


LAUGHED  AT  AGAIN.  147 

true  again  toward  the  great  ocean  of  that  which  is  broadest 
and  best. 

For  this  little  Jenny  at  home  is  hoping,  and  Abiah  Frank- 
lin praying,  and  Josiah  Franklin  keeping  silence  in  regard  to 
his  family  affairs. 

These  were  hard  days  for  Uncle  Benjamin  and  his  philos- 
ophy, and  for  Jenny  and  her  human  faith. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

LONDON    AND   A    LONG    SWIM. 

WHAT  kind  of  a  man  was  Governor  Sir  William  Keith? 
There  are  not  many  such,  but  one  such  may  be  found  in  almost 
every  large  community.  He  desired  popularity,  and  he  loved 
to  please  every  one.  He  was  constantly  promising  what  he  was 
not  able  to  fulfill.  He  had  a  lively  imagination,  and  he  liked 
to  think  what  he  would  do  if  he  could  for  every  bright  person 
he  met;  and  these  things  which  he  would  like  to  do  he  prom- 
ised, and  his  promises  often  ended  in  disapponitment.  It  de- 
lighted him  to  see  faces  light  up  with  hope.  Did  he  intend  to 
deceive?  No.  He  had  a  heart  to  bless  the  whole  world.  He 
was  for  a  time  a  very  popular  Governor,  but  he  who  had  given 
away  expectations  that  but  disappointed  so  many  hearts  was 
at  last  disappointed  in  all  his  expectations.  He  was  greatly 
pleased  with  young  Benjamin  Franklin  when  he  first  met  him, 
just  as  he  had  been  with  many  other  promising  young  men. 
He  liked  a  young  man  who  had  the  hope  of  the  future  in  his 
face.  This  young  printer  who  had  entertained  Boston  under 
the  name  of  Silence  Dogood  won  his  heart  on  a  further  ac- 
quaintance, and  so  he  used  to  invite  him  to  his  home.  He  there 
showed  him  how  essential  a  good  printer  would  be  to  the  prov- 
ince; how  such  a  young  man  as  he  would  make  a  fortune; 

148 


LONDON  AND  A  LONG  SWIM.  149 

and  he  urged  him  to  go  back  to  his  father  in  Boston  and  bor- 
row money  for  such  an  enterprise.  He  gave  him  a  long  letter 
of  commendation  to  his  father,  a  droll  missive  indeed  to  carry 
to  clear-sighted,  long-headed  Josiah  Franklin. 

With  this  grand  letter  and  twenty-five  pounds  in  silver  in 
his  pocket  and  a  gold  watch  besides,  and  his  vision  full  of 
rainbows,  he  returned  to  the  Puritan  town.  He  went  to  the 
printing  office,  which  was  again  under  the  charge  of  his  brother 
James.  He  was  finely  dressed,  and  as  he  had  come  back  with 
such  flattering  prospects  he  had  a  grain  of  vanity. 

He  entered  James's  office.  The  latter  looked  at  him  with 
wide  eyes,  then  turned  from  him  coldly. 

But  Silence  Dogood  was  not  to  be  chilled.  The  printers 
flocked  around  him  with  wonder,  as  though  he  had  been  a  return- 
ing Sindbad,  and  he  began  to  relate  to  them  his  adventures  in 
Philadelphia.  James  heard  him  with  envy,  doubtful  of  the  land 
"  where  rocs  flew  away  with  elephants."  But  when  Benjamin 
showed  the  men  his  watch,  and  finally  shared  with  them  a  sil- 
ver dollar  in  hospitalities,  he  fancied  that  his  brother  had  come 
there  to  insult  him,  and  he  felt  more  bitterly  toward  him  than 
ever  before.  Benjamin  had  much  to  learn  in  life.  He  and  his 
brother,  notwithstanding  their  good  Quaker-born  mother,  had 
not  learned  the  secret  of  the  harmony  of  Abraham  and  Lot. 

But  one  of  these  lessons  of  life  our  elated  printer  was  to 
learn,  and  at  once. 

He  returned  to  his  home  at  the  Blue  Ball.  His  parents  had 
not  heard  from  him  since  he  went  away  some  seven  months  be- 
fore, and  they,  though  grieved  at  his  conduct,  received  him  joy- 
fully. There  was  always  an  open  door  in  Abiah  Folger's  heart. 
11 


150  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

The  Quaker  blood  of  good  Peter  Folger  never  ceased  to  course 
warm  in  her  veins. 

Ben  told  his  marvelous  story.  After  the  literary  adventures 
of  Silence  Dogood  in  Boston,  his  parents  could  believe  much, 
but  when  he  came  to  tell  of  his  intimacy  with  Sir  William 
Keith,  Governor  of  the  Province  of  Pennsylvania,  successor  to 
the  great  William  Penn,  they  knew  not  what  to  think.  Either 
Sir  William  must  be  a  singular  man,  or  they  must  have  under- 
rated the  ability  of  young  Silence  Dogood. 

"  This  is  great  news  indeed.  But  what  proof  do  you  bring 
of  your  good  fortune,  my  son?  "  asked  the  level-headed  Josiah, 
lifting  his  spectacles  upon  his  forehead  and  giving  his  son  a 
searching  look. 

Young  Benjamin  took  from  his  pocket  the  letter  of  Sir 
William  and  laid  it  before  his  father.  It  indeed  had  the  vice- 
royal  seal  of  the  province. 

His  father  put  down  his  spectacles  from  his  forehead,  and 
his  wife  Abiah  drew  up  her  chair  beside  him,  and  he  read  the 
letter  to  himself  and  then  reviewed  it  aloud. 

The  letter  told  him  what  a  wonderfully  promising  young 
man  Benjamin  was;  how  well  he  was  adapted  to  become  the 
printer  of  the  province,  and  how  he  only  needed  a  loan  where- 
with to  begin  business  to  make  a  fortune. 

Josiah  Franklin  could  not  doubt  the  genuineness  of  the  let- 
ter. He  sat  thinking,  drumming  on  a  soap  shelf. 

"  But  why,  my  boy,  if  you  are  so  able  and  so  much  needed 
does  not  Governor  Keith  lend  you  the  money  himself?  " 

•   Ben  sat  silent.     N"ot  all  the  arts  of  the  Socratic  method 
could  suggest  any  answer  to  this  question. 


LONDON  AND  A  LONG  SWIM.          151 

"  I  am  glad  that  you  have  an  influential  patron,"  said  Jo- 
siah,  "  but  to  a  man  of  hard  sense  it  would  seem  very  strange 
that  he  should  not  advance  the  money  himself  to  help  one  so 
likely  to  become  so  useful  to  the  province  to  begin  business. 
People  are  seldom  offered  something  for  nothing  in  this  world, 
and  why  this  man  has  made  himself  your  patron  I  can  not  see, 
even  through  my  spectacles." 

u  He  wishes,  father,  to  make  me  a  printer  for  the  advance- 
ment of  the  province." 

"  Then  why,  my  son,  should  not  a  governor  of  a  rich  prov- 
ince himself  provide  you  with  means  to  become  a  printer  for  the 
advancement  of  the  province?  " 

Socrates  himself  could  not  have  answered  this  question. 

"  Did  you  tell  him  that  your  father  was  an  honest,  hard- 
working soap  boiler  and  candle  maker?  " 

"  No,"  said  the  young  man. 

"  Benjamin,  I  have  a  large  family,  ami  I  am  unable  to  lend 
you  the  money  that  the  Governor  requests.  But  even  if  I  had 
the  money  I  should  hesitate  to  let  you  have  it  for  such  a  pur- 
pose. You  are  too  young  to  start  in  business,  and  your  charac- 
ter is  not  settled.  That  troubles  me,  Ben.  Your  character 
is  not  settled.  You  have  made  some  bad  mistakes  already. 
You  went  away  without  bidding  your  mother  good-by,  and 
now  return  to  me  with  a  letter  from  the  Governor  of 
Pennsylvania  who  asks  me  to  loan  you  money  to  set  you  up 
in  business,  because  you  are  so  agreeable  and  promising. 
0  Ben,  Ben,  did  you  not  think  that  I  had  more  sense  than 
that?  " 

Josiah  lifted  his  spectacles  up  to  his  forehead,  and  looked 


152  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

his  finely  dressed  son  fully  in  the  face.  The  pride  of  the  latter 
hegan  to  shrink.  He  saw  himself  as  he  was. 

But  Abiah  pleaded  for  her  large-brained  boy — Abiah,  whose 
heart  was  always  open,  in  whom  lived  Peter  Folger  still.  Jenny 
had  but  one  thing  to  say.  It  was,  "  Ben,  don't  go  back,  don't 
go  back." 

"  I  will  tell  you  what  I  will  do,"  said  Josiah.  "  I  will  write 
a  letter  to  Governor  Keith,  telling  him  the  plain  truth  of  my 
circumstances.  That  is  just  right.  If  when  you  are  twenty 
years  of  age  you  will  have  saved  a  part  of  the  money  to  begin 
business,  I  will  do  what  I  can  for  you." 

With  this  letter  Silence  Dogood  returned  to  Philadelphia 
in  humiliation.  We  think  it  was  this  Silence  Dogood  who 
wrote  the  oft-quoted  proverb,  "  A  good  kick  out  of  doors  is 
worth  all  the  rich  uncles  in  the  world." 

Young  Franklin  presented  his  father's  letter  to  Governor 
Keith. 

"  Your  father  is  too  prudent,"  said  the  latter.  "  He  says 
that  you  are  too  young  and  unsettled  for  business.  Some  peo- 
ple are  thirty  years  old  at  eighteen.  It  is  not  years  that  are  to 
be  considered  in  this  case,  but  fitness  for  work.  I  will  start 
you  in  business  myself." 

Silence  Dogood  rejoiced.  Here  was  a  man  who  was 
"  better  than  a  father  " — the  "  best  man  in  all  the  world,"  he 
thought. 

"  Make  out  an  inventory  of  the  things  that  you  need  to  be- 
gin the  business  of  a  printer,  and  I  will  send  to  London  for 
them." 

Benjamin  did  so,  an  inventory  to  the  amount  of  one  hun- 


LONDON  AND  A  LONG  SWIM.  153 

dred  pounds.  He  brought  it  to  the  Governor,  who  greatly  sur- 
prised him  by  a  suggestion. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Sir  William,  «  you  would  like  to  go  to  Lon- 
don and  get  the  machinery  yourself.  I  would  give  you  a  letter 
of  credit." 

Was  it  raining  gold? 

"I  would  like  to  go  to  London,"  answered  the  young 
printer. 

''  Then  I  will  provide  for  your  journey.  You  shall  go  with 
Captain  Annis."  This  captain  sailed  yearly  from  Philadelphia 
to  London. 

Waiting  the  sailing  of  the  ship  months  passed  away.  Gov- 
ernor Keith  entertained  the  young  printer  at  his  home.  The 
sailing  time  came.  Franklin  went  to  the  office  of  the  Gov- 
ernor to  receive  the  letter  of  credit  and  promised  letters  of  in- 
troduction. 

"All  in  good  time,  my  boy,"  said  the  Governor's  clerk, 
"  but  the  Governor  is  busy  and  can  not  see  you  now.  If  you 
will  call  on  Wednesday  you  will  receive  the  letters." 

Young  Franklin  called  at  the  office  on  the  day  appointed. 

"  All  in  good  time,  my  boy,"  said  the  clerk.  "  The  Gov- 
ernor has  not  had  time  to  fix  them  up  and  get  them  ready. 
They  will  be  sent  to  you  on  board  the  ship  with  the  Governor's 
mail." 

So  Franklin  went  on  board  the  ship.  As  the  Governor's 
mail  came  on  board  he  asked  the  captain  to  let  him  see  the  let- 
ters, but  the  latter  told  him  that  he  must  wait  until  the  ship 
got  under  way. 

Out  at  sea  the  Governor's  letters  were  shown  to  him.     There 


154  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

Avere  several  directed  to  people  "  in  the  care  of  Benjamin 
Franklin."  He  supposed  these  contained  notes  of  introduction 
and  the  letter  of  credit,  so  he  passed  happily  over  the  sea. 

He  reached  London  December  24,  1724.  He  rushed  into 
the  grand  old  city  bearing  the  letters  directed  in  his  care.  He 
took  the  one  deemed  most  ,important  to  the  office  of  the  gentle- 
man to  whom  it  was  directed.  "  This  letter  is  from  Governor 
Keith,  of  the  Province  of  Pennsylvania,"  said  Franklin.  . 

"  I  know  of  no  such  person,"  said  the  man.  The  latter 
opened  the  letter.  "  Oh,  I  see,"  said  he,  "  it  is  from  one  Kiddle- 
son.  I  have  found  him  out  to  be  a  rascal,  an  exile,  and  refuse 
to  entertain  any  communication  from  him." 

Franklin's  face  fell.  His  heart  turned  heavy.  He  went 
out  wondering.  "  Was  his  father's  advice  sound,  after  all  ?  " 

The  rest  of  the  letters  that  had  been  directed  in  his  care 
were  not  written  by  Governor  Keith,  but  by  people  in  the  prov- 
ince to  their  friends,  of  which  he  had  been  made  a  postboy. 
There  were  in  the  mail  no  letters  of  introduction  from  Gov- 
ernor Keith  to  any  one,  and  no  letter  of  credit. 

He  found  himself  alone  in  London,  that  great  wilderness 
of  homes.  Of  Keith's  conduct  he  thus  speaks  in  his  autobiog- 
raphy : 

"  What  shall  we  think  of  a  Governor  playing  such  pitiful 
tricks,  and  imposing  so  grossly  upon  a  poor  ignorant  boy?  It 
was  a  habit  he  had  acquired;  he  wished  to  please  everybody, 
and  having  little  to  give,  he  gave  expectations.  He  was  other- 
wise an  ingenuous,  sensible  man,  a  pretty  good  writer,  and  a 
good  Governor  for  the  people,  though  not  for  his  constituents, 
the  Proprietaries,  whose  instructions  he  sometimes  disregarded. 


LONDON  AND  A  LONG  SWIM.  .  155 

Several  of  our  best  laws  were  of  his  planning,  and  passed  dur- 
ing his  administration." 

He  found  work  as  a  journeyman  printer  in  London,  and  we 
are  sorry  to  say  lived  like  most  journeymen  printers  there.  But 
Silence  Dogood  had  to  make  himself  useful  even  among 
these  unsettled  people.  He  instituted  new  ways  of  business 
and  life  of  advantage  to  journeymen  printers,  and  so  kept  the 
chain  of  his  purpose  lengthening. 

There  was  a  series  of  curious  incidents  that  happened  dur- 
ing the  last  part  of  this  year  of  residence  in  London  that  came 
near  changing  his  career.  It  was  in  1726;  he  was  about  twenty 
years  old.  He  had  always  loved  the  water,  to  be  on  it  and  in 
it,  and  he  became  an  expert  swimmer  when  he  was  a  lad  in  Bos- 
ton town. 

He  had  led  a  temperate  life  among  the  London  apprentices, 
and  had  kept  his  physical  strength  unimpaired.  He  drank 
water  while  they  drank  beer.  They  laughed  at  him,  but  he 
was  able  to  carry  up  stairs  a  heavier  case  of  type  than  any  of 
them.  They  called  him  the  "  American  water-drinker,"  but 
there  came  a  day  when  he  performed  a  feat  that  became  the  ad- 
miration of  the  young  London  printers.  He  loved  companion- 
ship, and  had  many  intimate  friends,  and  among  them  there 
was  one  Wygate,  who  went  swimming  with  him,  probably  in 
the  Thames,  and  whom  he  taught  to  swim  in  two  lessons. 

One  day  Wygate  invited  him  to  go  into  the  country  with 
him  and  some  of  hi's  friends.  They  -had  a  merry  time  and  re- 
turned by  water.  After  they  had  embarked  .from  Chelsea,  a 
suburb  which  was  then  some  four  and  a  half  miles  from  St. 
Paul's  Cathedral,  "Wygate  said  to  him: 


156  TRUE  TO  HIS   HOME. 

"  Franklin,  you  are  a  water  boy;  let  us  see  how  well  you 
can  swim." 

Franklin  knew  his  strength  and  skill.  He  took  off  his  cloth- 
ing and  leaped  into  the  river,  and  probably  performed  all  the 
old  feats  that  one  can  do  in  the  water. 

His  dexterity  delighted  the  party,  but  it  soon  won  their 
applause. 

He  swam  a  mile. 

"  Come  on  board!  "  shouted  they.  "  Are  you  going  to  swim 
back  to  London?" 

"  Yes,"  came  a  voice  as  if  from  a  fish  in  the  bright,  sunny 
water. 

He  swam  two  miles. 

The  wonder  of  the  party  grew. 

•Three  miles. 

They  cheered. 

Four  miles  to  Blackfriars  Bridge.  Such  a  thing  had  never 
been  known  among  the  apprentice  lads.  The  swim  brought 
young  Franklin  immediate  fame  among  these  apprentices,  and 
it  spread  and  filled  London. 

Sir  William  Wyndham,  once  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer, 
heard  of  this  exploit,  and  desired  to  see  him.  He  had  two  sons 
who  were  about  to  travel,  to  whom  he  wished  Franklin  to  teach 
swimming.  But  the  two  boys  were  detained  in  another  place, 
and  Franklin  never  met  them.  It  was  proposed  to  Franklin 
that  he  open  a  swimming  school. 

But  while  he  was  favorable  to  such  agreeable  employment, 
there  occurred  one  of  those  incidents  that  seem  providential. 

He  met  one  day  at  this  shifting  period  Mr.  Denham,  the  up- 


'ARE   YOU   GOING   TO   SWIM    BACK   TO   LONDON?' 


LONDON  AND  A  LONG  SWIM.  157 

right  merchant,  whose  integrity  came  to  honor  his  profession 
and  Philadelphia.  This  man  had  failed  in  business  at  Bristol, 
and  had  left  England  under  a  cloud.  But  he  had  an  honest 
soul  and  purpose,  and  he  resolved  to  pay  every  dollar  that  he 
owed.  To  this  end  he  put  all  the  energies  of  his  life  into 
his  business.  He  went  to  America  to  make  a  fortune,  and  he 
made  it.  He  then  returned  to  Bristol,  which  he  had  left  in 
sorrow  and  humiliation. 

He  gave  a  banquet,  and  invited  to  it  all  the  merchants  and 
people  whom  he  owed.  They  responded  to  the  unexpected  in- 
vitation, and  wondered  what  would  happen.  When  they  had 
seated  themselves,  at  the  table,  and  the  time  to  serve  the  meal 
came,  the  dinner  plates  were  lifted,  and  each  one  found  before 
him  the  full  amount  of  the  money  due  to  him.  The  banquet  of 
honor  made  the  name  of  the  merchant  famous. 

Mr.  Denham  was  a  friend  to  men  in  need  of  good  influences. 
He  saw  Franklin's  need  of  advice,  and  he  said  to  him: 

"  My  young  friend,  you  should  return  to  Philadelphia.  It 
is  the  place  of  opportunity." 

"  But  I  have  not  the  means." 

"  I  have  the  means  for  you.  I  am  about  to  return  to  Amer- 
ica with  a  cargo  of  merchandise.  You  must  go  back  with  me. 
Your  place  in  life  is  there." 

Should  he  go? 

It  was  early  summer.  He  went  out  on  London  Bridge  one 
night.  It  grew  dark  late.  But  at  last  there  gleamed  in  the 
dark  water  the  lights  of  London  like  stars.  Many  voices  filled 
the  air  as  the  boats  passed  by.  The  nine  o'clock  bells  rang. 
It  may  be  that  he  heard  the  Bow  bells  ring,  the  bells  that  said, 


158  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

"Come  back!  come  back!  come  back!"  to  young  Dick  Whit- 
tington  when  he  was  running  away  from  his  place  in  life.  If 
so,  he  must  have  been  reminded  of  all  that  this  man  accom- 
plished by  heeding  the  voice  of  the  bells,  and  of  how  King 
Henry  had  said,  after  all  his  benefactions,  "  Did  ever  a  prince 
have  such  a  subject?  " 

He  must  have  thought  of  Uncle  Tom  and  the  bells  of  Not- 
tingham on  this  clear  night  of  lovely  airs  and  out-of-door 
merriments.  Over  the  great  city  towered  St.  Paul's  under 
the  rising  moon.  Afar  was  the  Abbey,  with  the  dust  of  kings. 

Then  he  thought  of  Uncle  Benjamin's  pamphlets.  It 
seemed  useless  for  one  to  look  for  books  in  this  great  city  of 
London. 

Franklin  never  saw  ghosts,  except  such  as  arise  out  of  con- 
science into  the  eye  of  the  mind.  But  the  old  man's  form  and 
his  counsels  now  came  into  the  view  of  the  imagination.  His 
old  Boston  home  came  back  to  his  dreams;  Jenny  came  back 
to  him,  and  the  face  of  the  young  woman  whom  he  had  learned 
to  love  in  Philadelphia. 

He  resolved  to  return.  America  was  his  land,  and  he  must 
build  with  her  builders.  He  sailed  for  America  with  his  good 
adviser,  the  honest  merchant,  July  21,  1726,  and  left  noble- 
men's sons  to  learn  to  swim  in  the  manner  that  he  himself  had 
mastered  the  water. 

Did  he  ever  see  Governor  Keith  again?  Yes.  After  his 
return  to  Philadelphia  he  met  there  upon  the  street 
one  who  was  becoming  a  discredited  man.  The  latter  recog- 
nized him,  but  his  face  turned  into  confusion.  He  did  not 
bow;  nor  did  Franklin.  It  was  Governor  Keith.  This  Gov- 


LONDON  AND  A  LONG  SWIM.  159 

ernor  Please-Everybody  died  in  London  after  years  of  poverty, 
at  the  age  of  eighty. 

Silence  Dogood  may  have  thought  of  his  father's  raised 
spectacles  when  he  met  Sir  William  that  day  on  the  street,  and 
when  they  did  not  wish  to  recognize  each  other,  or  of  Jenny's 
words,  "  Ben,  don't  go  back." 

He  had  learned  some  hard  lessons  from  the  hook  of  life, 
and  he  would  henceforth  be  true  to  the  most  unselfish  coun- 
sels on  earth — the  heart  and  voice  of  home. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

A    PENNY    ROLL    WITH    HONOR. JENNY'S    SPINNING-WHEEL. 

BENJAMIN  became  a  printer  again.  By  the  influence  of 
friends  he  opened  in  Philadelphia  an  office  in  part  his  own. 

Benjamin  Franklin  had  no  Froebel  education.  The  great 
apostle  of  the  education  of  the  spiritual  faculties  had  not  yet 
appeared,  and  even  Pestalozzi,  the  founder  of  common  schools 
for  character  education,  could  not  have  been  known  to  him. 
But  when  a  boy  he  had  grasped  the  idea  that  was  to  be  evolved 
by  these  two  philosophers,  that  the  end  of  education  is  charac- 
ter, and  that  right  habits  become  fixed  or  automatic,  thus  virtue 
must  be  added  to  virtue,  intelligence  to  intelligence,  benevo- 
lence to  benevolence,  faith  to  faith. 

One  day,  when  he  was  very  poor,  there  came  into  his  print- 
ing office  a  bustling  man. 

"  See  here,  my  boy,  I  have  a  piece  for  you;  there's  ginger 
in  it,  and  it  will  make  a  stir.  You  will  get  well  paid  for  giv- 
ing it  to  the  public;  all  Philadelphia  will  read  it." 

"  I  am  glad  to  get  something  to  give  the  paper  life," 
said  Franklin.  "  I  will  read  the  article  as  soon  as  I  have  time 
to  spare." 

"  I  will  call  to-morrow,"  said  the  man.  "  It  is  running  water 
that  makes  things  grow.  That  article  will  prove  very  interesting 

160 


A  PENNY  ROLL  WITH  HONOR. 

reading  to  many  people,  and  it  will  do  them  good.  It  is  a 
needed  rebuke.  You'll  say  so  when  you  read  it." 

Franklin  at  this  time  did  a  great  part  of  the  work  in  the 
office  himself,  and  he  was  very  busy  that  day.  At  last  he  found 
time  to  take  up  the  article.  He  hoped  to  find  it  one  that 
would  add  to  the  circulation  of  the  paper.  He  found  that  it 
was  written  in  a  revengeful  spirit,  that  it  was  full  of  detrac- 
tion and  ridicule,  that  it  would  answer  no  good  purpose,  that 
it  would  awaken  animosities  and  engender  bitter  feelings  and 
strife.  But  if  used  it  would  be  read,  laughed  at,  increase  the 
sale  of  the  paper,  and  secure  him  the  reputation  of  publishing  a 
smart  paper. 

Should  he  publish  an  article  whose  influence  would  be 
harmful  to  the  public  for  the  sake  of  money  and  notoriety? 

He  here  began  in  himself  as  an  editor  that  process  of  moral 
education  which  tends  to  make  fixed  habits  of  thought,  judg- 
ment, and  life.  He  resolved  not  to  print  the  article. 

But  the  author  of  it  would  laugh  at  him — might  call  him 
puritanic;  would  probably  say  that  he  did  not  know  when  he 
was  "  well  off  ";  that  he  stood  in  his  own  light;  that  he  had  not 
the  courage  to  rebuke  private  evils. 

The  young  printer  had  the  courage  to  rebuke  wrong,  but 
this  article  was  a  sting — a  revengeful  attempt  to  make  one  a 
laughing  stock.  It  had  no  good  motive.  But  it  haunted  him. 
He  turned  the  question  of  his  duty  over  and  over  in  his  mind. 

Night  came,  and  he  had  not  the  money  to  purchase  a  sup- 
per or  to  secure  a  bed.  Should  he  not  print  the  lively  article, 
and  make  for  himself  better  fare  on  the  morrow? 

No.      Manhood  is    more  than  money,  worth  more  than 


162  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

wealth.  He  went  to  the  baker's  and  bought  a  twopenny  roll; 
he  ate  it  in  his  office,  and  then  lay  down  on  the  floor  of  his 
office  and  went  to  sleep. 

The  boy's  sleep  was  sweet.  He  had  decided  the  matter  in 
his  own  heart,  and  had  given  himself  a  first  lesson  in  what  we 
would  to-day  call  the  new  education.  In  this  case  it  was  an 
editorial  education. 

It  was  a  lovely  winter  morning.  There  was  joy  in  all  Na- 
ture; the  air  was  clear  and  keen;  the  Schuylkill  rippled  bright 
in  the  glory  of  the  sun.  He  rose  before  the  sun,  and  went  to  his 
work  with  a  clear  conscience,  but  probably  dreading  the  anger 
of  the  patron  when  he  should  give  him  his  decision. 

When  the  baker's  shop  opened  he  may  have  bought  another 
twopenny  roll.  He  certainly  sat  down  and  ate  one,  with  a 
dipper  of  water. 

In  the  later  hours  of  the  morning  the  door  opened,  and  the 
patron  came  in  with  a  beaming  face. 

"  Have  you  read  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  read  the  article,  sir." 

"  Won't  that  be  a  good  one?     What  did  you  think  of  it?  " 

"  That  I  ought  not  to  use  it." 

"  Why?  "  asked  the  man,  greatly  astonished. 

"  I  can  not  be  sure  that  it  would  not  do  injustice  to  the  per- 
son whom  you  have  attacked.  There  are  always  two  sides  to 
a  case.  I  myself  would  not  like  to  be  publicly  ridiculed  in 
that  manner.  Detraction  leads  to  detraction,  and  hatred  begets 
hate." 

"  But  you  must  have  money,  my  Boston  lad.  Have  you 
thought  of  that?  "  was  the  suggestion. 


A  PENNY  ROLL  WITH  HONOR. 

Franklin  drew  himself  up  in  the  strength  and  resolution  of 
young  manhood,  and  made  the  following  answer,  which  we 
give,  as  we  think,  almost  in  his  very  words: 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say,  sir,  that  I  think  the  article  is  scurrilous 
and  defamatory.  But  I  have  been  at  a  loss,  on  account  of  my 
poverty,  whether  to  reject  it  or  not.  I  therefore  put  it  to  this 
issue.  At  night,  when  my  work  was  done,  I  hought  a  two- 
penny loaf,  on  which  I  supped  heartily,  and  then  wrapping 
myself  in  my  greatcoat  slept  very  soundly  on  the  floor  until 
morning,  when  another  loaf  and  a  mug  of  water  afforded  a 
pleasant  breakfast.  Now,  sir,  since  I  can  live  very  comfortably 
in  this  manner,  why  should  I  prostitute  my  press  to  personal 
hatred  or  party  passion  for  a  more  luxurious  living?  " 

This  experience  may  be  regarded  as  temporizing,  but  it  was 
inward  education  in  the  right  direction,  a  step  that  led  upward. 
It  shows  the  trend  of  the  way,  the  end  of  which  is  the  "  path 
of  the  just,  that  leads  more  and  more  unto  the  perfect  day." 

A  young  man  who  was  willing  to  eat  a  twopenny  roll  and 
to  sleep  on  the  floor  of  his  pressroom  for  a  principle,  had  in 
him  the  power  that  lifts  life,  and  that  sustains  it  when  lifted. 
He  who  puts  self  under  himself  for  the  sake  of  justice  has  in 
him  the  gravitation  of  the  skies.  Uncle  Ben's  counsels  were 
beginning  to  live  in  him.  Jenny's  girl's  faith  was  budding 
in  his  heart,  and  it  would  one  day  bloom.  He  was  turning 
to  the  right  now,  and  he  would  advance.  There  are  periods 
in  some  people's  lives  when  they  do  not  write  often  to  their  best 
friends;  such  a  one  had  just  passed  with  Ben.  During  the 
Governor  Keith  misadventures  he  had  not  written  home  often, 
as  the  reader  may  well  imagine.  But  now  that  he  had  come 


TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

back  to  Philadelphia  and  was  prosperous,  the  memory  of 
loving  Jenny  began  to  steal  back  into  his  heart. 

He  had  heard  that  Jenny,  now  at  sweet  sixteen,  was 
famous  for  her  beauty.  He  may  have  been  jealous  of  her,  we 
do  not  know;  but  he  was  apprehensive  that  she  might  become 
vain,  and  he  regarded  modesty,  even  at  his  early  age  of  twenty- 
one  or  twenty-two,  as  a  thing  very  becoming  a  blooming  girl. 

One  day  he  wrote  to  her,  "  Jenny,  I  am  going  to  send  you 
a  present  by  the  next  ship  to  Boston  town." 

The  promise  filled  the  girl's  heart  with  delight.  Her  faith 
in  him  had  never  failed,  nor  had  her  love  for  him  changed. 

What  would  the  present  be? 

She  went  to  her  mother  to  help  her  solve  this  riddle. 

"  Perhaps  it  will  be  a  ring,"  she  said.  "  I  would  rather 
have  that  from  Ben  than  any  other  thing." 

"  But  he  would  not  send  a  ring  by  ship,"  said  her  mother, 
"  but  by  the  post  chaise." 

"  True,  mother;  it  can  not  be  that.  It  may  be  a  spinet. 
I  think  it  is  a  spinet.  He  knows  how  we  have  delighted  in 
father's  violin.  He  might  like  to  send  me  a  harp,  but  what  is 
a  spinet  but  a  harp  in  a  box?  " 

"  I  think  it  may  be  that,  Jenny.  He  would  send  a  spinet 
by  ship,  and  he  knows  how  much  we  all  love  music." 

"  Yes,  and  he  must  see  how  many  girls  are  adding  the  music 
of  the  spinet  to  their  accomplishments." 

"  Wouldn't  a  spinet  be  rather  out  of  place  in  a  candle 
shop?  "  asked  the  mother. 

"  Not  out  of  place  in  the  parlor  of  a  candle  shop,"  said 
Jenny  with  dignity. 


JENNY'S  SPINNING-WHEEL.  165 

"  Do  you  think  that  you  could  learn  to  play  the  spinet, 
Jenny?" 

"  I  would,  if  Ben  were  to  send  me  one.  I  have  been  true 
to  Ben  all  along.  I  have  never  given  him  up.  He  may  get 
out  of  place  in  life,  but  he  is  sure  to  get  back  again.  A  true 
heart  always  does.  I  am  sure  that  it  is  a  spinet  that  he  will 
send.  I  dreamed,"  she  added,  "  that  I  heard  a  humming  sound 
in  the  air  something  like  a  harp.  I  dreamed  it  in  the  morning, 
and  morning  dreams  come  true." 

"  A  humming  sound,"  said  Josiah  Franklin,  who  had  come 
within  hearing;  "there  are  some  things  besides  spinets  that 
make  humming  sounds,  and  Ben  must  know  how  poor  we  dre. 
I  am  glad  that  his  heart  is  turning  home  again,  after  his 
scattering  adventures  with  the  Governor.  It  .is  not  every 
one  who  goes  to  sea  without  a  rudder  that  gets  back  to  port 
again." 

Jenny  dreamed  daily  of  the  coming  ship  and  present.  The 
ship  came  in,  and  one  evening  at  dark  an  old  sailor  knocked  at 
the  door.  He  presently  came  in  and  announced  that  they  had  a 
"  boxed-up  "  thing  for  one  Jane  Franklin  on  board  the  ship. 
Should  he  send  it  by  the  cartman  to  the  house? 

"  Yes,  yes!  "  cried  Jenny.  "  Now  I  know  it  is  a  spinet  I 
heard  humming — I  told  you  about  it,  mother." 

The  girl  awaited  the  arrival  of  the  gift  with  a  flushed  cheek 
and  a  beating  heart.  It  came  at  last,  and  was  brought  in  by 
candlelight. 

It  was  indeed  a  "  boxed-up  "  thing. 

The  family  gathered  around  it — the  father  and  mother,  the 

boys  and  the  girls. 
12 


160  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

Josiah  Franklin  broke  open  the  box  with  his  great  claw 
hammer,  which  might  have  pleased  an  Ajax. 

"0  Jenny!"  he  exclaimed,  "that  will  make  a  humming 
indeed.  Ben  has  not  lost  his  wits  yet — or  he  has  found  them 
again." 

"  What  is  it?     What  is  it,  father?  " 

"  The  most  sensible  thing  in  all  the  world.  See  there,  it 
is  a  spinning-wheel! " 

Jane's  heart  sank  within  her.  Her  dreams  vanished  into 
the  air — the  delights  of  the  return  of  Sindbad  the  Sailor  were 
not  to  be  hers  yet.  The  boys  giggled.  She  covered  her  face 
with  her  hands  to  hide  her  confusion  and  to  gain  heart. 

"  I  don't  care,"  she  said  at  last,  choking.  "  I  think  Ben  is 
real  good,  and  I  will  forgive  him.  I  can  spin.  The  wheel  is 
a  beauty." 

The  gift  was  accompanied  by  a  letter.  In  it  Benjamin  told 
her  that  he  had  heard  that  she  had  been  much  praised  for  her 
beauty,  but  that  it  was  industry  and  modesty  that  most  mer- 
ited commendation  in  a  young  girl.  The  counsel  was  as  homely 
as  much  of  that  that  Uncle  Benjamin  used  to  give  little  Benja- 
min, but  she  choked  down  her'  feelings. 

"  Benjamin  was  thinking  of  you  as  well  as  of  me  when  he 
sent  me  that  present,"  she  said  to  her  mother.  "  I  will  make 
music  with  the  wheel,  and  the  humming  will  make  us  all 
happy.  I  think  that  Ben  is  real  good — and  a  spinet  would  have 
been  out  of  place  here.  I  will  write  him  a  beautiful  letter  in 
return,  and  will  not  tell  him  how  I  had  hoped  for  a  spinet.  It 
is  all  better  as  it  is.  That  is  best  which  will  do  the  most 
good." 


JENNY'S  SPINNING-WHEEL.  167 

If  Franklin  sent  a  practical  spinning-wheel  to  Jenny  when 
she  was  a  girl,  with  much  advice  in  which  there  was  no  poetry, 
such  a  sense  of  homely  duties  soon  passed  away.  He  came  to 
send  her  beautiful  presents  of  fabrics,  "  black  and  purple 
gowns,"  wearing  apparel  of  elegant  texture,  and  ribbons. 
When  he  became  rich  it  was  his  delight  to  make  happy  the 
home  of  Jane  Mecom — his  poetic,  true-hearted  sister  "  Jenny," 
whose  heart  had  beat  to  his  in  every  step  of  his  advancing  life. 

She  became  the  mother  of  a  large  family  of  children,  and 
when  one  of  them  ran  away  and  went  to  sea  she  took  all  the 
blame  of  it  to  herself,  and  thought  that  if  she  had  made  his 
home  pleasanter  for  him  he  would  not  have  left  it.  In  her 
self-blame  she  wrote  to  her  brother  to  confess  how  she  had  failed 
in  her  duty  toward  the  boy.  Franklin  read  her  heart,  and  wrote 
to  her  that  the  boy  was  wholly  to  blame,  which  could  hardly 
have  been  comforting.  Jenny  would  rather  have  been  to  blame 
herself.  There  was  but  little  wrong  in  this  world  in  her  eyes, 
except  herself. 

She  saw  the  world  through  her  own  heart. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

MR.    CALAMITY. 

THEEE  was  a  fine,  busy  old  gentleman  that  young  Franklin 
met  about  the  time  that  he  opened  his  printing  office,  whose 
course  it  will  be  interesting  to  follow.  Almost  every  young 
man  sometimes  meets  a  man  of  this  type  and  character.  He  is 
certain  to  be  found,  as  are  any  of  the  deterrent  people  in  the 
Pilgrim's  Progress.  He  is  the  man  in  whose  eyes  there  is  ruin 
lurking  in  every  form  of  prosperity,  who  sees  only  the  dark  side 
of  things — to  whom,  as  we  now  say,  everything  "  is  going  to 
the  dogs." 

We  will  call  him  Mr.  Calamity,  for  that  name  represents 
what  he  had  come  to  be  as  a  prophet.* 

One  day  young  Franklin  heard  behind  him  the  tap,  tap. 
tap  of  a  cane.  It  was  a  time  when  Philadelphia  was  begin- 
ning to  rise,  and  promised  unparalleled  prosperity.  The  cane 
stopped  with  a  heavy  sound. 

"  What — what  is  this  I  hear?  "  said  Mr.  Calamity.  "  You 
are  starting  a  printing  office,  they  say.  I  am  sorry,  sorry." 

"  Why  are  you  sorry,  sir?  "  asked  the  young  printer. 


*  The  old  gentleman  who  suggests  this  character  was  named  Mickle  or 
Mikle.- 

168 


MR.   CALAMITY.  169 

"  Oh,  you  are  a  smart,  capable  young  man,  one  who  in  the 
right  place  would  succeed  in  life.  I  hate  to  see  you  throw 
yourself  away." 

"  But  is  not  this  the  right  place?  " 

"What,  Philadelphia?" 

"  Yes,  it  is  growing." 

''  That  shows  how  people  are  deceived.  Haven't  you  any 
eyes?  " 

"  Yes,  yes." 

"But  what  were  they  made  for?  Can't  you  see  what  is 
coming?  " 

"  A  great  prosperity,  sir." 

"  Oh,  my  young  man,  how  you  are  deceived,  and  how 
feather-headed  people  have  deceived  you!  Don't  you  know 
that  this  show  of  prosperity  is  all  delusion;  that  people  of 
level  heads  are  calling  in  their  bills,  and  that  this  is  a  hard 
time  for  creditors?  The  age  of  finery  has  gone,  and  the  age 
of  rags  has  come.  Rags,  sir,  rags!  " 

"  No,  sir,  no.  I  thought  the  people  were  getting  out  of 
debt.  See  how  many  people  are  building." 

"  They  are  building  to  be  ready  for  the  crash — they  do  not 
know  what  else  to  do  with  their  money;  calamity  is  coming." 

"  But  how  do  you  know,  sir?  " 

"  Know  ?  It  requires  but  little  wit  to  know.  I  can  feel 
it  in  my  head.  The  times  are  not  what  they  used  to  be.  Wil- 
liam Penn  is  dead,  and  none  of  his  descendants  are  equal  to 
him.  Look  at  the  Quakers,  see  how  worldly  they  are  be- 
coming! Most  people  are  living  beyond  their  means! 
Property,"  he  added,  "  is  all  on  the  decline.  In  a  few 


170  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

years  you  will  see  people  moving  away  from  here.  You  will 
hear  that  the  Proprietors  have  failed.  Young  man,  don't  go 
into  business  here.  Let  me  tell  you  a  secret,  though  I  hate  to 
do  it,  as  your  heart  is  bent  upon  setting  up  the  printing  business 
here;  listen  to  me  now — the  whole  province  is  going  to  fail. 
Before  us  is  bankruptcy.  Do  you  hear  it — that  awful,  awful 
word  bankruptcy?  The  Governor  himself,  in  my  opinion,  is 
on  the  way  to  bankruptcy  now.  The  town  will  have  to  all  go 
out  of  business,  and  then  there  will  be  bats  and  owls  in  the  gar- 
rets, and  the  wharves  will  rot.  I  sometimes  think  that  I  will 
have  to  quit  my  country." 

"  Do  other  folks  think  as  you  do?  " 

"Ay,  ay,  don't  they?  All  that  have  any  heads  with  eyes. 
Some  folks  have  eyes  for  the  present,  some  for  the  past,  and 
some  for  the  future.  I  am  one  of  those  that  have  eyes  for 
the  future.  I  expect  to  see  grass  growing  in  the  streets  before 
I  die,  and  I  shall  not  have  to  live  long  to  pluck  buttercups  un- 
der the  King's  Arms.  I  pity  young  chickens  like  you  that  will 
have  no  place  to  run  to." 

"  But,  sir,"  said  young  Franklin,  "  suppose  things  do  take 
another  turn.  The  young  settlers  are  all  building;  the  old 
people  are  enlarging  their  estates.  It  is  easy  to  borrow  money, 
and  it  looks  to  me  that  we  will  have  here  twice  as  many  people 
in  another  generation  as  we  have  now.  If  the  city  should  grow, 
what  an  opening  there  is  for  a  printer!  I  shall  take  the  risk." 

"  Bisk — risk?  Jump  off  a  ship  on  the  high  sea  with  an  iron 
ball  on  your  feet!  Go  down,  and  stick  there.  Business,  I  tell 
you,  is  going  to  die  here,  and  who  would  want  to  read  what 
a  stripling  like  you  would  write  outside  of  business?  You 


MR.  CALAMITY.  -,^1 

would  print  that  this  one  had  failed,  that  that  one  had  failed, 
and  one  don't  collect  bills  handy  from  people  who  have  failed! 
1  tell  you  that  the  whole  province  is  ab6ut  to  fail,  and  Philadel- 
phia is  going  to  ruin,  and  I  advise  you  to  turn  right  about  and 
pack  up,  and  go  to  some  other  place.  There  will  never  be  any 
chance  for  you  here." 

Tap,  tap,  tap,  went  his  cane,  and  he  moved  away. 
Young  Franklin  started  to  go  to  his  work  with  a  heavy 
heart.     The  cane  stopped.     Old  Mr.  Calamity  looked  around. 
"  I've  warned  you,"  said  he  with  a  nourish   of   the   cane. 
"  I  tell  you,  I  tell  you  everything  is  going  back  to  the  wilder- 
ness, and  I  pity  you,  but  not  half  so  much  as  you  will  pity 
yourself  if  you  embark  in  the  printing  business,  and  print  fail- 
ures for  nothing,  to  fail  yourself  some  day.     This  is  the  age  of 
rags,  rags!  " 

Tap,  tap,  tap,  went  on  the  cane,  and  the  old  gentleman 
chuckled. 

Young  Franklin  went  on  in  his  business.  What  was  he 
to  do?  He  saw  everything  with  hopeful  eyes.  But  he  was 
young.  His  heart  told  him  to  go  on  in  his  undertaking,  and 
he  went  on. 

He  had  been  laughed  at  in  Boston,  and  old  Mr.  Calamity 
had  risen  up  here  to  laugh  at  him  again. 

He  knew  not  how  it  was,  but  it  was  in  him  to  become  a 
printer.  As  the  young  waterfowl  knows  the  water  as  soon  as  it 
toddles  from  his  nest,  so  young  Franklin  from  his  boyhood  saw 
his  life  in  this  new  element;  the  press  was  to  be  the  source  of 
America's  rise,  power,  and  glory,  the  throne  of  the  republic; 
it  was  to  make  and  mold  and  fulfill  by  its  influence  public 


172  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

opinion;  the  same  public  opinion  was  to  rule  America,  and 
the  young  printer  of  Philadelphia  was  to  lead  the  way  now, 
and  to  reap  the  fruits  of  his  spiritual  resolution  after  he  was 
seventy  years  of  age.  He  saw  it,  he  felt  it,  he  knew  his  own 
mind.  So  he  left  behind  old  Mr.  Calamity  for  the  present,  but 
he  was  soon  to  meet  him  again. 

He  had  now  taken  a  third  step  on  the  ladder  of  life.  His 
business  should  be  built  upon  honor. 

The  next  time  that  he  met  Mr.  Calamity,  the  old  gentleman 
gave  him  a  view  of  the  prospects  of  a  printer. 

"  If  you  think  that  you  are  going  to  get  your  foot  on  the 
ladder  of  life  by  becoming  a  printer,  you  will  find  that  you 
have  mistaken  your  calling.  None  of  the  great  men  of  old  were 
printers,  were  they?  Homer  was  no  printer,  was  he?  " 

"  I  have  never  heard  that  he  was." 

"  Nor  did  you  hear  of  any  one  who  ever  printed  the  Iliad 
or  the  Odyssey.  No  printer  was  ever  heard  of  among 
the  immortals.  A  printer  just  prints — that  is  all.  Solomon 
never  printed  anything,  did  he?  " 

"  I  never  read  that  he  did,  sir." 

"Nor  Shakespeare?" 

"  I  never  heard  that  he  did,  sir." 

"  A  printer  has  no  chance  to  rise;  he  just  builds  the  ark 
for  Noah  to  sail  in,  and  is  left  behind  himself." 

"  I  hope  to  print  some  of  my  own  thoughts,  sir." 

"You  do?  Ha!  ha!  ha!  Who  do  you  think  is  going  to 
read  them?  Your  own  thoughts — that  does  give  me  a  stitch 
in  the  side,  and  makes  me  laugh  so  loud  and  swing  my  cane 
so  high  that  it  sets  the  cats  and  dogs  to  running.  See  them  go 


MR.  CALAMITY.  173 

over  the  garden  fence!  I  shall  watch  your  course,  and  when 
you  begin  to  scatter  your  ideas  about  in  the  world,  I  hope  I 
will  be  living  to  gather  some  of  them  up.  I  hope  they  will 
never  lead  a  revolution!  " 

Franklin's  "  £a  Ira  "  were  the  words  that  led  the  French 
Revolution. 


CHAPTEE  XXIV. 

FRANKLIX'S    STEUGGLES    WITH    FRANKLIN. 

AT  the  age  of  fifteen  Franklin  had  avowed  himself  a  deist, 
or  theist,  which  must  have  grieved  his  parents,  who  were  peo- 
ple of  positive  Christian  faith.  He  loved  to  argue,  and  when 
he  had  learned  the  Socratic  art  of  asking  questions  so  as  to 
lead  one  to  confuse  himself,  and  of  answering  questions  in  the 
subjunctive  mood,  he  sought  nothing  more  than  disputations 
in  the  stanch  Puritan  town.  His  intimate  friends  were  de- 
ists, but  they  came  to  early  failure  through  want  of  faith  or  any 
positive  moral  conviction.  Governor  Keith  was  a  deist. 

The  reader  may  ask  what  we  mean  by  a  deist  here.  A 
deist  or  theist  in  Franklin's  time  was  one  who  believed  in  a 
God,  but  questioned  the  Christian  faith  and  system.  He  was 
not  an  atheist.  He  held  that  a  personal  governing  power 
directed  all  things  after  his  own  will  and  purpose.  Under  the 
providence  of  this  Being  things  came  and  went,  and  man  could 
not  know  how  or  why,  but  could  simply  believe  that  all  that 
was  was  for  the  good  of  all. 

At  the  age  of  twenty-two  young  Franklin  began  to  see  that 
life  without  faith  had  no  meaning,  but  was  failure.  In  the 
omnipotence  of  spiritual  life  and  power  the  soul  must  share  or 

174 


FRANKLIN'S  STRUGGLES  WITH  FRANKLIN.          175 

die.  Negations  or  denials  did  not  satisfy  him.  This  was  a 
positive  world,  governed  by  spiritual  law.  To  disobey  these 
laws  was  loss  and  death. 

He  had  been  doing  wrong.  He  had  done  wrong  in  yield- 
ing to  his  personal  feelings  in  leaving  home  in  the  manner 
which  he  did.  He  had  committed  acts  of  social  wrong.  He 
had  followed  at  times  the  law  of  the  lower  nature  instead  of 
the  higher.  He  had  become  intimate  with  two  friends  who 
had  led  him  into  unworthy  conduct,  and  over  whom  his  own 
influence  had  not  been  good.  He  saw  that  the  true  value  of 
life  lies  in  its  influence.  There  were  things  in  his  life  that  tend- 
ed to  ruin  influence.  There  were  no  harvests  to  be  expected 
from  the  barren  rocks  of  negation  and  denials  of  faith  in  the 
highest  good.  Sin  gives  one  nothing  that  one  can  keep.  He 
must  change  his  life,  he  must  obey  perfectly  the  spiritual  laws 
of  his  being.  He  saw  it,  and  resolved  to  begin. 

Now  began  a  struggle  between  Benjamin  Franklin  the 
natural  man  and  Benjamin  Franklin  the  spiritual  man  that 
lasted  for  life.  It  became  his  purpose  to  gain  the  spiritual  mas- 
tery, and  to  obey  the  laws  of  regeneration  and  eternal  life. 

Here  are  his  first  resolutions: 

"  Those  who  write  of  the  art  of  poetry  teach  us  that,  if  we 
would  write  what  may  be  worth  reading,  we  ought  always,  be- 
fore we  begin  to  form  a  regular  plan  and  design  of  our  piece; 
otherwise  we  shall  be  in  danger  of  incongruity.  I  am  apt  to 
think  it  is  the  same  as  to  life.  I  have  never  fixed  a  regular  de- 
sign in  life,  by  which  means  it  has  been  a  confused  variety  of 
different  scenes.  I  am  now  entering  upon  a  new  life;  let  me, 
therefore,  make  some  resolutions,  and  form  some  scheme  of 


176  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

action,  that  henceforth  I  may  live  in  all  respects  like  a  rational 
creature. 

"  1.  It  is  necessary  for  me  to  be  extremely  frugal  for  some 
time,  till  I  have  paid  what  I  owe. 

"  2.  To  endeavor  to  speak  truth  in  every  instance,  to  give 
nobody  expectations  that  are  not  likely  to  be  answered,  but 
aim  at  sincerity  in  every  word  and  action;  the  most  amiable 
excellence  in  a  rational  being. 

"  3.  To  apply  myself  industriously  to  whatever  business 
I  take  in  hand,  and  not  divert  my  mind  from  my  business  by 
any  foolish  project  of  growing  suddenly  rich;  for  industry  and 
patience  are  the  surest  means  of  plenty. 

"  4.  I  resolve  to  speak  ill  of  no  man  whatever,  not  even  in  a 
matter  of  truth;  but  rather  by  some  means  excuse  the  faults 
I  hear  charged  upon  others,  and,  upon  proper  occasions,  speak 
all  the  good  I  know  of  everybody." 

But  there  must  be  a  personal  God,  since  he  himself  had  per- 
sonality, and  he  must  seek  a  union  of  soul  with  his  will  beyond 
these  mere  moral  resolutions. 

At  the  age  of  twenty-two  he  composed  a  litany  after  the 
manner  of  the  Episcopal  Church,  but  adapted  to  his  own 
conditions.  In  this  he  praj's  for  help  in  the  points  where  he 
had  found  himself  to  be  morally  and  spiritually  weak. 

These  petitions  and  resolutions  show  his  inward  struggles. 
They  reveal  his  ideals,  and  to  fulfill  these  ideals  became  the  end 
of  his  life.  For  the  acts  of  wrong  which  he  had  done  in  his 
period  of  adventures,  and  the  unworthy  life  that  he  had  then 
led,  he  tried  to  make  reparation.  The  spiritual  purpose  of  Ben- 
jamin Franklin  had  obtained  the  mastery  over  the  natural  man. 


FRANKLIN'S  STRUGGLES  WITH  FRANKLIN.          177 

Honor  was  his  star,  and  more  spiritual  light  was  his  desire  and 
quest. 

He  married  Miss  Read,  the  young  woman  who  had  laughed 
at  him  when  he  had  entered  Philadelphia  eating  his  penny 
roll,  with  two  rolls  of  bread  under  his  arm,  and  his  superfluous 
clothing  sticking  out  of  his  pocket.  He  had  neglected  her 
during  his  adventures  abroad,  but  she  forgave  him,  and  he  had 
become  in  high  moral  resolution  another  man  now. 

As  a  printer  in  Philadelphia  his  paper  voiced  the  public 
mind  and  heart  on  all  which  were  then  most  worthy.  To  pub- 
lish a  paper  that  advocates  the  best  sentiments  of  a  virtuous 
people  is  the  shortest  way  to  influence  in  the  world.  Frank- 
lin found  it  so.  The  people  sought  in  him  the  representative, 
and  from  the  printing  office  he  was  passed  by  natural  and  easy 
stages  to  the  halls  of  legislation. 

So  these  resolutions  to  master  himself  may  be  regarded  as 
another  step  on  the  ladder  of  life.  To  benefit  the  world  by 
inventions  is  a  good  thing,  but  to  lift  it  by  an  example  of  self- 
control  and  an  unselfish  life  is  a  nobler  thing,  and  on  this  plane 
we  find  young  Franklin  standing  now.  Franklin  :.G  the  master 
of  Franklin,  and  the  influence  of  Silence  Dogood  through  the 
press  is  filling  the  province  of  Pennsylvania.  The  paper  which 
he  established  in  Philadelphia  was  called  the  Pennsylvania  Ga- 
zette. In  connection  with  this  he  began  to  publish  a  very 
popular  annual  called  Poor  Richard's  Almanac,  about  which 
we  will  tell  you  in  another  chapter. 

Right  doing  is  the  way  to  advancement — Franklin  had  this 
resolution;  a  newspaper  that  voices  the  people  is  a  way  to  ad- 
vancement— such  a  one  Franklin  had  founded;  and  good  hu- 


178  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

mor  is  a  way  to  advancement,  and  of  this  Franklin  found  an 
expression  in  Poor  Richard's  Almanac  which  has  not  yet  ceased 
to  be  quoted  in  the  world.  It  was  the  means  of  conveying 
Silence  Dogood's  special  messages  to  every  one.  It  made  the 
whole  world  happier.  Franklin,  on  account  of  the  wise  say- 
ings in  the  almanac,  himself  came  to  be  called  "  Poor  Richard." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE   MAGICAL   BOTTLE. 

FRANKLIN  is  now  a  man  of  character,  benevolence,  wisdom, 
and  humor.  He  is  a  printer,  a  publisher,  a  man  whose  thoughts 
are  influencing  public  opinion.  He  is  a  very  prosperous  man;  he 
is  making  money  and  reputation,  but  it  is  not  the  gaining  of 
either  of  these  that  is  true  success,  but  of  right  influence.  It 
is  not  the  answer  to  the  question,  What  are  you  worth?  or  What 
is  your  popularity?  but  What  is  your  influence?  that  determines 
the  value  of  a  man. 

He  had  founded  life  on  right  principles,  and  he  had  well 
learned  the  trade  in  his  youth  that  leads  a  poor  young  man  of 
right  principles  and  nobility  to  success.  He  took  the  right 
guideboard,  and  the  "  Please-everybody  "  Governor  did  him  a 
good  service  when  he  showed  him  that  to  become  a  printer  in 
Philadelphia  would  bring  him  influence,  fame,  and  fortune. 
People  who  are  well  meaning,  beyond  the  ability  to  fulfill  their 
intentions,  sometimes  reveal  to  others  what  may  be  of  most 
use  to  them.  It  was  not  altogether  an  unfortunate  day  when 
the  wandering  printer  boy  met  Governor  Keith. 

In  the  midst  of  his  prosperity  Silence  Dogood  was  con- 
stantly seeking  out  inventions  to  help  people.  When  he  was 
about  thirty-four  years  of  age,  in  the  Poor  Richard  days, 

179 


180  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

he  saw  that  the  forests  were  disappearing,  and  that  there  would 
be  a  need  for  the  people  to  practice  economy  in  the  use  of 
fuel.  The  fireplaces  in  the  chimneys  were  great  consumers  of 
wood,  and  in  many  of  them,  to  use  the  housewife's  phrase, 
"  the  heat  all  went  up  the  chimney."  But  that  was  not  all; 
many  of  the  chimneys  of  the  good  people  smoked,  and  in  mak- 
ing a  fire  rooms  would  be  filled  with  smoke,  or,  to  use  again  the 
housewife's  term,  "  the  smoke  would  all  come  out  into  the 
room." 

When  this  was  so  the  people  would  all  flee  to  cold  rooms 
with  smarting  eyes.  New  houses  in  which  chimneys  smoked 
were  sometimes  taken  down  or  altered  to  make  room  for  new 
chimneys  that  would  draw.  Franklin  sought  to  bring  relief 
to  this  sorry  condition  of  affairs. 

He  invented  the  Franklin  stove,  from  which  the  heat  would 
go  out  into  the  room,  and  not  "up  the  chimbly,"  to  use  a 
provincial  word.  This  cheerful  stove  became  a  great  comfort 
to  the  province,  and  to  foreign  countries  as  well.  It  saved  fuel, 
and  brought  the  heat  of  the  fire  into  the  room. 

He  long  afterward  began  to  study  chimneys,  and  after  much 
experiment  found  that  those  that  smoked  need  not  be  taken 
down,  but  that  only  a  draught  was  needed  to  cause  the  smoke 
to  rise  in  rarefied  air.  The  name  of  the  Franklin  stove  added 
very  greatly  to  Poor  Kichard's  wisdom,  in  making  for  Frank- 
lin an  American  reputation,  which  also  extended  to  Europe. 
His  fame  arose  along  original  ways.  Surely  no  one  ever  walked 
in  such  ways  before. 

He  formed  a  club  called  the  Junto,  which  became  very  pros- 
perous, and  gave  strength  to  his  local  reputation.  He  also  began 


THE  MAGICAL  BOTTLE.  181 

a  society  for  the  study  of  universal  knowledge,  which  was  called 
the  Philosophical  Society. 

A  man  can  do  the  most  when  he  is  doing  the  most.  One 
thing  leads  to  another;  one  thing  feeds  another,  and  one  does 
not  suffer  in  health  or  nerves  from  the  many  things  that  one 
loves  to  do.  It  is  disinclination  or  friction  that  wears  one 
down.  People  who  have  been  very  busy  in  what  they  most 
loved  to  do  have  usually  lived  to  be  old,  and  come  down  to  old 
age  in  the  full  exercise  of  their  powers. 

While  Franklin  was  thus  seeking  how  he  could  make  him- 
self useful  to  every  one  in  many  ways — for  a  purpose  of  useful- 
ness finds  many  paths — his  attention  was  called  to  a  very  curi- 
ous discovery  that  had  been  made  in  the  Dutch  city  of  Leyden, 
in  November,  1745.  It  was  an  electrical  bottle  called  the 
Leyden  jar. 

Nature  herself  had  been  discharging  on  a  stupendous  scale 
her  own  Leyden  jars  through  all  generations,  but  no  one  seems 
to  have  understood  these  phenomena  until  this  memorable  year 
brought  forth  the  magical  little  bottle  which  was  a  flashlight 
in  the  long  darkness  of  time. 

The  Greeks  had  found  that  amber  when  rubbed  would  at- 
tract certain  light  substances,  and  the  ancient  philosophers 
and  doctors  had  discovered  the  value  of  an  electric  shock  from 
a  torpedo  in  rheumatic  complaints;  that  sparks  would  follow 
the  rubbing  of  the  fur  of  animals  in  cold  air  had  also  been  no- 
ticed, but  of  magnetism,  and  of  electricity,  which  is  a  current 
of  magnetism,  the  world  was  ignorant,  except  as  to  some  of 
its  more  common  and  obvious  effects. 

In  1600  Dr.  Gilbert,  of  England,  discovered  that  many  other 
13 


182  TEUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

substances  besides  amber  could  be  made  to  develop  an  attractive 
power.  He  also  discovered  that  there  are  many  substances 
that  can  not  be  electrically  excited. 

In  1650  Otto  von  Guericke,  the  inventor  of  the  air-pump, 
made  a  machine  which  looked  like  a  little  grindstone — a  wheel 
of  sulphur  mounted  on  a  turning  axle,  which  being  used  with 
friction  produced  powerful  electrical  sparks  and  lights.  He 
found  by  experiments  with  this  machine  that  bodies  thus  ex- 
erted by  friction  may  impart  electricity  to  other  bodies,  and  that 
bodies  so  electrified  may  repel  as  well  as  attract. 

Sir  Isaac  Newton  made  an  electrical  machine  of  glass,  and 
Stephen  Gray,  in  1720,  said  that  if  a  large  amount  of  electricity 
could  be  stored,  great  results  might  be  expected  from  it. 

Charles  Frangois  Dufay  detected  that  there  were  two  kinds 
of  electricity,  which  he  called  "  vitreous  "  and  "  resinous." 

A  great  discovery  was  coming.  The  first  beams  of  a  new 
planet  were  rising.  How  did  there  come  into  existence  the 
"  magical  bottle  "  known  as  the  Leyden  jar? 

At  Leyden  three  philosophers  were  experimenting  in  elec- 
tricity. "  We  can  produce  electrical  effects,"  said  one.  "  If 
we  could  accumulate  and  retain  electricity  we  would  have 
power." 

They  electrified  a  cannon  suspended  by  silk  cords.  A 
few  minutes  after  ceasing  to  turn  the  handle  of  the  electrical 
machine  which  supplied  the  cannon  with  fluid,  the  charge  was 
gone. 

"  If  we  could  surround  an  electrified  body  with  a  noncon- 
ducting substance,"  said  Professor  Musschenbroek,  "  we  could 
imprison  it;  we  could  accumulate  and  store  it."  He  added: 


THE  MAGICAL  BOTTLE.  183 

"  Glass  is  a  nonconductor  of  electricity,  and  water  is  a  good 
conductor.  If  I  could  charge  with  electricity  water  in  a  bottle, 
I  could  possess  it  and  control  it  like  other  natural  powers." 

He  attempted  to  do  this.  He  suspended  a  wire  from  a 
charged  cannon  to  the  water  in  a  bottle,  but  for  a  time  no  re- 
sult followed. 

One  day,  however,  Mr.  Cuneus,  one  of  the  scientists,  while 
engaged  in  this  experiment,  chanced  to  touch  the  conductor 
with  one  hand  and  the  electrified  bottle  with  the  other.  It  was 
a  mere  accident.  He  leaped  in  terror.  What  had  happened? 
He  had  received  an  electric  shock.  What  did  it  mean?  A 
revolution  in  the  use  of  one  of  the  greatest  of  the  occult  forces 
of  Nature. 

Terror  was  followed  by  amazement.  Mr.  Cuneus  told  Pro- 
fessor Musschenbroek  what  had  happened. 

The  professor  repeated  the  experiment,  with  the  same  result. 

If  electricity  could  be  secured,  accumulated,  and  discharged, 
what  might  not  follow  as  the  results  of  further  experiments? 

It  was  several  days  before  the  professor  recovered  from  the 
shock.  "  I  would  not  take  a  second  shock,"  he  said,  "  for  the 
kingdom  of  France! " 

Thus  the  Leyden  jar  came  into  use.  The  news  of  the  ex- 
periment flew  over  Germany  and  Europe.  Scientific  people 
everywhere  went  to  making  Leyden  jars  and  imprisoning  elec- 
tricity. 

Society  took  up  the  invention  as  a  wonder  toy.  Gunpowder 
was  discharged  from  the  point  of  the  finger  by  persons  charged 
on  an  insulating  stool.  Electrical  kisses  passed  from  bold  lips 
to  lips  in  social  circles.  Even  timid  people  mounted  up  on 


134  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

cakes  of  resin  that  their  friends  might  see  their  hair  stand  on 
end.  Sir  William  Watson,  of  London,  completed  the  electrical 
fountain  by  coating  the  bottle  in  and  out  with  tinfoil. 

The  great  news  reached  America.  Franklin  heard  of  it; 
no  ears  were  more  alert  than  his  to  profit  by  suggestions  like 
this. 

Mr.  Peter  Collinson,  of  London,  sent  to  him  an  account  of 
Professor  Musschenbroek's  magical  bottle. 

He  told  his  friends  of  the  Junto  Club  of  the  invention,  and 
set  them  all  to  rubbing  electric  substances  for  sparks. 

He  had  invented  many  useful  things.  A  new  force  had 
fallen  under  the  control  of  man.  He  must  investigate  it;  he 
must  experiment  with  it;  he  too  must  have  a  magical  bottle. 

"  I  never,"  he  wrote  in  1747,  "  was  before  engaged  in  any 
study  that  so  totally  engrossed  my  attention  and  time  as  this 
has  lately  done;  for  what  with  making  experiments  when  I 
can  be  alone,  and  repeating  them  to  my  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances who  from  the  novelty  of  the  thing  come  continually  in 
crowds  to  see  them,  I  have  during  some  months  past  had  little 
leisure  for  anything  else." 

What  was  magnetism?  What  was  electricity?  What  se- 
crets of  Nature  might  the  magical  bottle  reveal?  To  what  use 
might  the  new  power  which  might  be  stored  and  imprisoned 
be  put?  Silence  Dogood,  ponder  night  and  day  over  the 
curious  toy.  The  world  waits  for  you  to  speak,  for  Nature  is 
about  to  reveal  one  of  her  greatest  secrets  to  you — you  who 
gave  two  penny  rolls  to  the  poor  woman  and  child  on  the 
street,  after  Deborah  Eead,  your  wife  now,  had  had  her  good 
laugh.  Your  good  wife  will  laugh  again  some  day,  when  you 


THE  MAGICAL  BOTTLE.  185 

have  further  poked  around  among  electrical  tubes  and  bottles, 
and  have. brought  your  benevolent  mind  to  bear  upon  some  of 
the  secrets  contained  in  the  magical  bottle.  You  have  added 
virtue  to  virtue;  you  are  adding  intelligence  to  intelligence; 
such  things  grow.  Discoveries  come  to  those  who  are  prepared 
to  receive  them. 


CHAPTER  XXYI. 

THE    ELECTRIFIED    VIAL    AND    THE    QUESTIONS    IT    EAISED. 

THERE  came  from  Europe  to  America  at  this  time  some 
electrical  tubes,  which  being  rubbed  produced  surprising  re- 
sults. To  the  curious  they  were  toys,  but  to  Franklin  they 
were  prophecies.  There  were  three  Philadelphians  who  joined 
with  Franklin  in  the  study  of  the  effects  that  could  be  pro- 
duced by  these  tubes  and  the  Leyden  vial. 

Franklin's  son  William  was  verging  on  manhood.  He  was 
beyond  the  years  that  we  find  him  experimenting  with  his 
father  in  the  old  pictures.  He  became  the  last  royal  Gov- 
ernor of  New  Jersey  some  years  afterward,  and  a  Tory,  and  his 
politics  at  that  period  was  a  sore  grief  to  his  father's  heart. 
But  he  was  a  bright,  free-hearted  boy  now,  nearly  twenty,  and 
his  father  loved  him,  and  the  two  were  harmonious  and  were 
companions  for  each  other. 

Franklin,  we  may  suppose,  interested  the  boy  in  the  bris- 
tling tubes  and  the  magical  bottle.  The  stored  electricity  in 
the  latter  was  like  the  imprisoned  genii  of  the  Arabian  Xights. 
Let  the  fairy  loose,  he  suddenly  mingled  with  native  elements, 
and  one  could  not  gather  him  again.  But  another  could  be 
gathered. 

186 


THE  ELECTRIFIED  VIAL.  Igf 

The  Philadelphia  philosophers  wondered  greatly  at  the  new 
effects  that  Franklin  was  able  to  produce  from  the  tubes  and 
the  bottle.  Did  not  the  genii  in  the  vial  hold  the  secret  of 
the  earth,  and  might  not  the  earth  itself  be  a  magnet,  and 
might  not  magnetism  fill  interstellar  space? 

The  wonder  grew,  and  its  suggestions.  One  of  the  Phila- 
delphia philosophers,  Philip  Sing,  invented  an  electrical  ma- 
chine. A  like  machine  had  been  made  in  Europe,  but  of  this 
Mr.  Sing  did  not  know. 

The  Philadelphia  philosophers  discovered  the  power  of  me- 
tallic points  to  draw  off  electricity. 

"  Electricity  is  not  created  by  friction,"  observed  one  of  these 
men.  "  It  is  only  collected  by  it." 

"And  all  our  experiments  show,"  argued  Franklin,  "that 
electricity  is  positive  and  negative." 

During  the  winter  of  1746-'47  these  men  devoted  as  much 
of  their  time  as  they  could  spare  to  electrical  experiments. 

"  William,"  said  one  of  the  philosophers  to  the  son  of  Frank- 
lin one  day,  "  you  have  brought  your  friends  here  to  see  the 
vial  genii;  he  is  a  lively  imp.  Let  me  show  you  some  new 
things  which  I  found  he  can  do." 

He  brought  out  a  bottle  of  spirits  and  poured  the  liquid  into 
a  plate.  "  Stand  up  on  the  insulating  stool,  my  boy,  and  let 
me  electrify  you,  and  see  if  the  imp  loves  liquor." 

The  lively  lad  obeyed.  He  pointed  his  finger  down  to 
the  liquor  in  the  plate.  It  burst  into  flame,  startling  the 
audience. 

"  Now,"  said  another  of  the  philosophers,  "  let  me  ask  you 
to  give  me  a  magic  torch." 


188  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

He  presented  to  his  finger  a  candle  with  an  alcoholic  wick. 
The  candle  was  at  once  lighted,  emitting  sparks  as  it  began  to 
burn. 

"  Hoi,  hoi!  "  said  the  philosopher  to  the  young  visitors, 
"  what  do  you  think  of  a  young  man  whose  touch  is  fire  ?  We 
have  a  Faust  among  us,  sure! " 

"  Now,  girls,  which  of  you  would  like  to  try  an  experi- 
ment ?  "  we  may  suppose  Father  Franklin  to  say,  in  the  spirit 
of  Poor  Richard. 

William  stepped  down,  and  an  adventurous  girl  took  his 
place  on  the  experimental  stool. 

"  You  have  all  heard  of  the  electric  kiss,"  said  Poor  Rich- 
ard. "  Let  this  young  lady  give  you  one.  I  will  prepare  her 
for  it." 

He  did. 

Another  girl  stepped  up  to  receive  it.  She  expected  to  re- 
ceive a  spark  from  her  friend's  lips;  but  instead  of  a  spark  she 
received  a  shock  that  caused  her  to  leap  and  to  bend  double, 
and  to  utter  a  piercing  cry. 

"  I  don't  think  that  the  kissing  of  young  men  and  young 
women  in  public  is  altogether  in  good  taste,"  said  the  philoso- 
phers, "  but  if  any  of  you  young  men  want  to  salute  this  lively 
young  lady  in  that  way,  there  will  be  in  this  case  no  objec- 
tions." 

But  none  of  the  young  men  cared  to  be  thrown  into  convul- 
sions by  the  innocent-looking  lass,  who  seemed  to  feel  no  dis- 
comfort. 

Experiments  like  these  filled  the  city  and  province  with 
amazement.  The  philosopher  made  a  spider  of  burned  cork 


THE  ELECTRIFIED  VIAL.  189 

that  would  run,  and  cause  other  people  to  run  who  had  not 
learned  the  wherefore  of  the  curious  experiment. 

The  wonderful  Leyden  vial  became  Franklin's  compan- 
ion. He  liked  ever  to  be  experimenting  in  what  the  new  force 
would  do.  What  next?  what  next?  How  like  lightning  was 
this  electricity!  How  could  he  increase  electrical  force? 

He  says  at  the  end  of  a  long  narrative: 

"  We  made  what  we  called  an  electrical  lattery,  consisting 
of  eleven  panes  of  large  sash-glass,  armed  with  thin  leaden 
plates  pasted  on  each  side,  placed  vertically,  and  supported  at 
two  inches  distance  on  silk  cords,  with  thick  hooks  of  leaden 
wire,  one  from  each  side,  standing  upright,  distant  from  each 
other,  and  convenient  communications  of  wire  and  chain,  from 
the  giving  side  of  one  pane  to  the  receiving  side  of  the  other, 
that  so  the  whole  might  be  charged  together." 

Franklin  at  this  time  was  a  stanch  royalist.  He  made  a 
figure  of  George  II,  with  a  crown,  and  so  arranged  it  that  the 
powerful  electrical  force  might  be  stored  in  the  crown. 

"  God  bless  him! "  said  the  philosopher. 

A  young  man  seeing  that  the  crown  was  very  attractive,  at- 
tempted to  remove  it.  It  was  a  thing  that  the  philosopher  had 
expected. 

The  youth  touched  the  crown.  He  reeled,  and  started  back 
with  a  stroke  that  filled  him  with  amazement. 

"  So  be  it  with  all  of  King  George's  enemies!  "  said  the  phi- 
losophers. "  Never  attempt  to  discrown  the  king." 

"  God  bless  him! "  said  Franklin.  His  son  always  contin- 
ued to  say  this,  but  Franklin  himself  came  to  see  that  he  who 
discrowns  kings  may  be  greater  than  kings,  and  that  it  became 


190  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

the  duty  of  a  people  to  discrown  tyrannical  kings,  and  to  make 
a  king  of  the  popular  will. 

Franklin  now  resolved  to  give  up  his  business  affairs  to 
others,  to  refuse  political  office,  and  to  devote  himself  to  sci- 
ence. The  latter  resolution  he  did  not  keep.  He  went  to  live 
on  a  retired  spot  on  the  Delaware,  where  he  had  a  large  gar- 
den, and  could  be  left  to  his  experiments  and  thoughts  upon 
them.  With  him  went  the  magical  bottle  and  his  interesting 
son  William. 

The  power  of  metallic  points  to  draw  off  lightning  now 
filled  his  mind.  "  Could  the  lightning  be  controlled?  "  he  be- 
gan to  ask.  "  Could  the  power  of  the  thunderbolt  be  dis- 
armed ?  " 

Every  element  can  be  made  to  obey  its  own  laws.  Water 
will  bear  up  iron  if  the  iron  be  hollow.  But  deeply  and  more 
deeply  must  the  thoughts  engage  the  mind  of  the  philosopher. 
"  Is  lightning  electricity?  Does  electricity  fill  all  space ?"  He 
wrote  two  philosophical  papers  at  this  critical  period  of  his  life, 
when  he  sought  to  give  up  money-making  and  political  life 
for  the  study  of  that  science  which  would  be  most  useful  to 
man.  He  who  gives  up  gains.  He  who  is  willing  to  deny  him- 
self the  most  shall  have  the  most.  He  that  loseth  his  life  shall 
save  it.  He  who  seeketh  the  good  of  others  shall  find  it  in 
himself. 

One  of  these  papers  was  entitled  "  Opinions  and  Conjectures 
concerning  the  Properties  and  Effects  of  the  Electrical  Mat- 
ter, and  the  Means  of  preserving  Ships  and  Buildings  from 
Lightning,  arising  from  Experiments  and  Observations  at 
Philadelphia  in  1749." 


THE  ELECTRIFIED  VIAL.  191 

In  this  treatise,  which  at  last  made  his  fame,  he  shows  the 
similarity  of  electricity  to  lightning,  and  gives  a  description  of 
an  experiment  in  which  a  little  lightning-rod  had  drawn  away 
electricity  from  an  artificial  storm  cloud.  He  says: 

"  If  these  things  are  so,  may  not  the  knowledge  of  this  power 
of  points  be  of  use  to  mankind  in  preserving  houses,  churches, 
ships,  etc.,  from  the  stroke  of  lightning,  by  directing  us  to  fix 
on  the  highest  part  of  those  edifices  upright  rods  of  iron  made 
sharp  as  a  needle,  and  gilt  to  prevent  rusting,  and  from  the  foot 
of  those  rods  a  wire  down  the  outside  of  the  building  into  the 
ground,  or  down  round  one  of  the  shrouds  of  a  ship,  and  down 
her  side  till  it  reaches  the  water?  Would  not  these  pointed  rods 
probably  draw  the  electrical  fire  silently  out  of  a  cloud  before  it 
came  nigh  enough  to  strike,  and  thereby  secure  us  from  that 
most  sudden  and  terrible  mischief?" 

A  great  discovery  was  at  hand. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

THE    GREAT   DISCOVERY. 

IT  was  a  June  day,  1752 — one  of  the  longest  days  of  the 
year.  Benjamin  Franklin  was  then  forty-six  years  of  age. 

The  house  garden  was  full  of  bloom;  the  trees  were  in 
leafage,  and  there  was  the  music  of  blooms  in  the  hives  of  the 
bees. 

Beyond  the  orchards  and  great  trees  the  majestic  Delaware 
rolled  in  purple  splendor,  dotted  with  slanting  sails. 

Nature  was  at  the  full  tide  of  the  year.  The  river  winds 
swept  over  the  meadows  in  green  waves,  where  the  bobolinks 
toppled  in  the  joy  of  their  songs. 

It  had  been  a  hot  morning,  and  billowy  clouds  began  to 
rise  in  the  still  heat  on  the  verge  of  the  sky. 

Benjamin  Franklin  sat  amid  the  vines  and  roses  of  his  door. 

"  William,"  he  said  to  his  son,  "  I  am  expecting  a  shower  to- 
day. I  have  long  been  looking  for  one.  I  want  you  to  remain 
with  me  and  witness  an  experiment  that  I  am  about  to  make." 

Silence  Dogood,  or  Father  Franklin,  then  brought  a  kite 
.  out  to  the  green  lawn.      The  kite  had   a   very  long  hempen 
string,  and  to  the  end  of  it,  which  he  held  in  his  hand,  he  be- 
gan to  attach  some  silk  and  a  key. 

192 


THE  GREAT  DISCOVERY.  193 

"  When  I  was  a  boy,"  said  Franklin,  "  and  lived  in  the  town 
of  Boston  by  the  marshes,  I  made  a  curious  experiment  with  a 
kite.  I  let  it  tow  me  along  the  water  where  I  went  swimming. 
I  have  always  liked  flying  kites.  I  hope  that  this  one  will 
bring  me  good  luck  should  a  shower  come." 

"  What  do  you  expect  to  do  with  it,  father?  " 

"If  the  cloud  comes  up  with  thunder,  and  lightning 
be  electricity,  I  am  going  to  try  to  secure  a  spark  from  the 
sky." 

The  air  was  still.  The  cloud  was  growing  into  mountain- 
like  peaks.  The  robins  and  thrushes  were  singing  lustily  in 
the  trees,  as  before  a  shower.  The  men  in  the  cornfields  and 
gardens  paused  in  their  work. 

Presently  a  low  sound  of  thunder  rolled  along  the  sky.  The 
cloud  now  loomed  high  and  darkened  in  the  still,  hot  air. 

"  It  is  coming,"  said,  Franklin,  "  and  the  cloud  will  be  a 
thunder  gust.  It  is  early  in  the  season  for  such  a  cloud  as  that. 
See  how  black  it  grows!  " 

The  kite  was  made  of  a  large  silk  handkerchief  fastened  to 
a  perpendicular  stick,  on  the  top  of  which  was  a  piece  of  sharp- 
ened iron  wire.  The  philosopher  examined  it  carefully. 

"  What  if  you  should  receive  a  spark  from  the  cloud, 
father?  "  asked  the  young  man. 

"  I  would  then  say  lightning  was  electricity,  and  that  it 
could  be  controlled,  and  that  human  life  might  be  protected 
from  the  thunderbolt." 

"  But  would  not  that  thwart  the  providence  of  God? " 

"  No,  it  would  merely  cause  a  force  of  Nature  to  obey  its 
own  laws  so  as  to  protect  life  instead  of  destroying  it." 


194  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

The  sky  darkened.  The  sun  went  out.  The  sea  birds  flew 
inland  and  screamed.  The  field  birds  stood  panting  on  the 
shrubs  with  drooping  wings. 

A  rattling  thunder  peal  crossed  the  sky.  _  The  wind 
began  to  rise,  and  to  cause  the  early  blasted  young  fruit  to 
fall  in  the  orchards.  The  waves  on  the  Delaware  curled 
white. 

"  Let  us  go  to  the  cattle-shed,"  said  Father  Franklin.  "  I 
have  been  laughed  at  all  my  life,  and  do  not  care  to  have  my 
neighbors  tell  the  story  of  my  experiment  to  others  if  I  should 
fail." 

The  two  went  together  to  the  cattle-shed  on  the  green 
meadow. 

The  wind  was  roaring  in  the  distance.  The  poultry  were 
running  home,  and  the  cattle  were  seeking  the  shelter  of  the 
trees. 

The  cloud  was  now  overhead.  Dark  sheets  of  rain  in  the 
horizon  looked  like  walls  of  carbon  reared  against  the  sky.  The 
lightning  was  sharp  and  frequent.  There  came  a  vivid  flash 
followed  by  a  peal  of  thunder  that  shook  the  hills. 

"  The  cloud  is  overhead  now,"  said  Franklin. 

He  ran  out  into  the  green  meadow  and  threw  the  kite 
against  the  wind. 

It  rose  rapidly  and  was  soon  in  the  sky,  drifting  in  the 
clouds  that  seemed  full  of  the  vengeful  fluid. 

At  the  termination  of  the  hempen  cord  dangled  the 
key,  and  the  silk  end  was  wound  around  the  philosopher's 
hand. 

The  young  man  took  charge  of  a  Leyden  jar  which  he  had 


THE  GREAT  DISCOVERY.  195 

brought  to  the  shed,  in  which  to  collect  electricity  from  the 
clouds,  should  the  experiment  prove  successful. 

The  cloud  came  on  in  its  fury.  The  rain  began  to  fall. 
Franklin  and  his  son  stood  under  the  shed. 

The  air  seemed  electrified,  but  no  electricity  appeared  in 
the  hempen  string.  Franklin  presented  his  knuckle  to  the  key, 
but  received  no  spark. 

What  was  that? 

The  hempen  string  began  to  bristle  like  the  hair  of  one  elec- 
trified. Was  it  the  wind?  Was  it  electricity? 

Benjamin  Franklin  now  touched  the  key  with  thrilling  emo- 
tion, while  his  son  looked  on  with  an  excited  face.  It  was  a 
moment  of  destiny  not  only  to  the  two  experimenters  in  the 
dashing  rain,  but  to  the  world.  If  Franklin  should  receive  a 
spark  from  the  key,  it  would  change  the  currents  of  the  world's 
events. 

Flash! 

It  came  clear  and  sharp.  The  heavens  had  responded  to 
law — to  the  command  of  the  human  will  guided  by  law. 

Again,  another  spark. 

The  boy  touches  the  key.  He,  too,  is  given  the  evidence 
that  has  been  given  to  his  father. 

The  two  looked  at  each  other. 

"  Lightning  is  electricity,"  said  Silence  Dogood.  "  It  can 
be  drawn  away  from  points  of  danger;  no  one  need  be  struck 
by  lightning  if  he  will  protect  himself." 

"  God  himself,"  once  said  a  writer,  "  could  not  strike  one  by 
lightning  if  one  were  insulated,  without  violating  his  own 
laws." 


/196  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

And  now  came  the  consummation  of  one  of  the  grandest  ex- 
periments of  time.  He  charged  the  Leyden  jar  from  the 
clouds. 

"Stand  back!" 

He  touched  his  hand  boldly  to  the  magical  bottle.  A 
shock  thrilled  him.  His  dreams  had  come  true.  He  had  con- 
quered one  of  the  most  potent  elements  on  earth. 

The  storm  passed,  the  clouds  broke,  the  wind  swept  by,  and 
the  birds  sang  again  over  the  bending  clover.  Night  serene  with 
stars  came  on.  That  was  probably  the  happiest  day  in  all 
Franklin's  eventful  life.  Like  the  patriarch  of  old,  "  his  chil- 
dren were  about  him."  He  shared  his  triumph  with  the  son 
whom  he  loved. 

But — he  sent  a  paper  on  the  results  of  his  observation  in 
electricity  to  the  Royal  Society  at  London,  in  which  he  an- 
nounced his  discovery  that  lightning  was  electricity.  The  so- 
ciety did  not  deem  it  worth  publishing;  it  was  a  neglected  man- 
uscript, and  as  for  his  theory  in  regard  to  the  electric  fluid  and 
universality,  that,  we  are  told  by  Franklin's  biographers,  "  was 
laughed  at." 

But  his  views  had  set  all  Europe  to  experimenting.  Scien- 
tists everywhere  were  proving  that  his  theories  were  true. 
France  had  become  very  much  excited  over  the  discovery,  and 
was  already  hailing  the  philosopher's  name  with  shouts  of  ad- 
miration. Franklin's  fame  filled  Europe,  and  the  greatest  of 
British  societies  began  to  honor  him.  It  was  Doctor  Franklin 
now! — The  honorary  degree  came  to  him  from  many  institu- 
tions.— Doctor  from  England,  Doctor  from  France,  Doctor 
from  American  colleges. 


THE  GREAT  DISCOVERY.  197 

The  boy  who  had  shared  his  penny  rolls  with  the  poor 
woman  and  her  child  sat  down  to  hear  the  world  praising  him. 

The  facts  that  lightning  was  electricity  or  electricity  was 
lightning,  that  it  was  positive  and  negative,  that  it  could  be 
controlled,  that  life  could  be  made  safe  in  the  thunder  gust, 
were  but  the  beginning  of  a  series  of  triumphs  that  have  come 
to  make  messengers  of  the  lightning,  and  brought  the  nations  of 
the  world  in  daily  communication  with  each  other.  But  the 
wizardlike  Edison  has  shown  that  the  influences  direct  and 
indirect  of  that  June  day  of  1752  may  have  yet  only  begun. 
What  magnetism  and  its  currents  are  to  reveal  in  another  cen- 
tury we  can  not  tell;  it  fills  us  with  silence  and  awe  to  read 
the  prophecies  of  the  scientists  of  to-day.  The  electrical 
mystery  is  not  only  moving  us  and  all  things;  we  are 
burning  it,  we  are  making  it  medicine,  health,  life.  What  may 
it  not  some  day  reveal  in  regard  to  a  spiritual  body  or  the  hu- 
man soul? 

The  centuries  to  come  can  only  reveal  what  will  be  the  end 
of  Franklin's  discovery  that  lightning  might  be  controlled  to 
become  the  protector  and  the  servant  of  man.  Even  his  im- 
agination could  hardly  have  forecast  the  achievements  which 
the  imp  of  the  magical  bottle  would  one  day  accomplish  in  this 
blind  world.  It  is  not  that  lightning  is  electricity,  but  that 
electricity  is  subject  to  laws,  that  has  made  the  fiery  substance 
the  wonder-worker  of  the  age. 

If  Uncle  Ben,  the  poet,  could  have  seen  this  day,  how  would 
his  heart  have  rejoiced! 

Jane  Mecom — Jenny — heard  of  the  fame  of  her  brother 
by  every  paper  brought  by  the  post.  She  delighted  to  tell  her 
14 


198  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

old  mother  the  weekly  news  about  Benjamin.  One  day,  when 
he  had  received  honors  from  one  of  the  great  scientific  socie- 
ties,, Abiah  said  to  her  daughter: 

"  You  helped  Ben  in  his  early  days — I  can  see  now  that  you 
did." 

"  How,  mother?  " 

"  By  believing  in  him  when  hardly  any  one  else  did.  We 
build  up  people  by  believing  in  them.  My  dim  eyes  see  it  all 
now.  I  love  to  think  of  the  past,"  she  continued,  "  when  you 
and  Ben  were  so  happy  together — the  days  of  Uncle  Benjamin. 
I  love  to  think  of  the  old  family  Thanksgivings.  What  won- 
derful days  were  those  when  the  old  clock-cleaner  came!  How 
he  took  the  dumb,  dusty  clock  to  pieces,  and  laid  it  out  on  the 
table!  How  Ben  would  say,  'you  can  never  make  that  clock 
tick  again! '  and  you,  Jenny,  whose  faith  never  failed,  would 
answer,  '  Yes,  Ben,  he  can ! '  How  the  old  man  would  break 
open  a  walnut  and  extract  the  oil  from  the  meat,  and  apply 
it  with  a  feather  to  the  little  axles  of  the  wheels,  and  then  put 
the  works  together,  and  the  clock  would  go  better  than  before! 
Do  you  remember  it,  Jane?  How,  then,  your  wondering  eyes 
would  look  upon  the  clock  miracle  and  delight  in  your  faith, 
and  say,  '  I  told  you  so,  Ben.'  How  he  would  kiss  you  in  your 
happiness  that  your  prophecy  had  come  true.  He  had  said 
'  ~No  '  that  you  might  say  '  Yes.' ': 

"  Do  you  think  that  his  thoughts  turn  home,  mother?  " 
There  was  a  whir  of  wings  in  the  chimney. 

"  More  to  a  true  nature  than  a  noisy  applause  of  the  crowd 
is  the  simple  faith  of  one  honest  heart,"  said  Abiah  Folger  in 
return.  "  In  the  silence  and  desolation  of  life,  which  may  come 


THE  GREAT  DISCOVERY.  199 

to  all,  such  sympathy  is  the  only  fountain  to  which  one  can  turn. 
Our  best  thoughts  fly  homeward  like  swallows  to  old  chimneys, 
where  they  last  year  brooded  over  their  young,  and  center  in 
the  true  hearts  left  at  the  fireside.  Every  true  heart  is  true  to 
his  home,  and  to  the  graves  of  those  with  whom  it  shared  the 
years  when  life  lay  fair  before  it.  Yes,  Jane,  he  thinks  of 
you." 

She  was  right.  Jenny  had  helped  her  brother  by  believing 
in  him  when  he  most  needed  such  faith. 

There  is  some  good  angel,  some  Jenny,  who  comes  into 
every  one's  life.  Happy  is  he  who  feels  the  heart  touch  of 
such  an  one,  and  yields  to  such  unselfish  spiritual  visions.  To 
do  this  is  to  be  led  by  a  gentle  hand  into  the  best  that  there  is 
in  life. 

In  sacred  hours  the  voices  of  these  home  angels  come 
back  to  the  silent  chambers  of  the  heart.  We  then  see  that 
our  best  hopes  were  in  them,  and  wish  that  we  could  retune 
the  broken  chords  of  the  past.  The  home  voice  is  always  true, 
and  we  find  it  so  at  last. 

Franklin  had  little  of  his  sister's  sentiment,  but  when  he 
thought  of  the  old  days,  and  of  the  simple  hearts  that  were  true 
to  him  there,  he  would  say,  "  Beloved  Boston."  His  heart  was 
in  the  words.  Boston  was  the  town  of  Jenny. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

HOME-COMING    IN    DISGUISE. 

THERE  is  a  very  delightful  fiction,  which  may  have  blos- 
somed from  fact,  which  used  to  be  found  in  schoolbooks,  under 
the  title  of  "  The  Story  of  Franklin's  Return  to  his  Mother 
after  a  Long  Absence." 

It  would  have  been  quite  like  him  to  have  returned  to  Bos- 
ton in  the  guise  of  a  stranger.  Some  one  has  said  that  he  had 
a  joke  for  everything,  and  that  he  would  have  put  one  into  the 
Declaration  of  Independence  had  he  been  able. 

The  tendency  to  make  proverbs  that  Franklin  showed  in 
his  early  years  grew,  and  if  he  were  not  indeed  as  wise  as  King 
Solomon,  no  one  since  the  days  of  that  Oriental  monarch  has 
made  and  "  sought  out "  so  many  proverbs  and  given  them  to 
the  world. 

The  maxims  of  Poor  Richard,  which  were  at  first  given  to 
the  world  through  an  almanac,  spread  everywhere.  They  were 
current  in  most  Boston  homes;  they  came  back  to  the  ears  of 
Jamie  the  Scotchman — back,  we  say,  for  some  of  them  were 
the  echoes  of  Silence  Dogood's  life  in  the  Puritan  province. 

Poor  Richard's  Almanac  was  a  lively  and  curious  miscellany, 
and  its  coming  was  an  event  in  America.  Franklin  put  the  wis- 
dom that  he  gained  by  experience  into  it.  In  the  following 

200 


HOME-COMING  IN  DISGUISE.  201 

resolution  was  the  purpose  of  his  life  at  this  time:  "  I  wished  to 
live,"  he  says,  "  without  committing  any  fault  at  any  time,  and 
to  conquer  all  that  either  natural  inclination,  custom,  or  com- 
pany might  lead  me  into." 

"  But— but,"  he  says,"  I  was  surprised  to  find  myself  so  much 
fuller  of  faults  than  I  had  imagined;  but  I  had  the  satisfaction 
of  seeing  them  diminish."  In  the  spirit  of  this  effort  to  correct 
life  and  to  learn  wisdom  from  experience,  he  gave  Poor  Rich- 
ard's Almanac  annually  to  the  world.  Like  some  of  the  prov- 
erbs of  Solomon,  it  taught  the  people  life  as  he  himself  learned 
it.  For  years  Franklin  lived  in  Poor  Richard,  and  it  was 
his  pulse  beat,  his  open  heart,  that  gave  the  annual  its  power. 
All  the  sayings  of  Poor  Richard  were  not  original  with 
Franklin.  When  a  critical  proverb,  or  a  line  from  one  of  the 
poets,  would  express  his  idea  or  conviction  better  than  he  could 
himself,  he  used  it.  For  example,  he  borrowed  some  beautiful 
lines  from  Pope,  who  in  turn  had  received  the  leading  thought 
from  a  satire  of  Horace. 

While  Franklin  was  learning  wisdom  from  life,  and  express- 
ing it  through  Poor  Richard,  he  was  studying  French,  Ital- 
ian, and  Spanish,  and  making  himself  the  master  of  philosophy. 
"  He  who  would  thrive  must  rise  at  five,"  he  makes  Poor 
Richard  say.  He  himself  rose  at  five  in  the  morning,  and  be- 
gan the  day  with  a  bath  and  a  prayer.  Intelligence  to  intelli- 
gence! 

Such  was  his  life  when  Poor  Richard  was  evolved. 

Who  was  Poor  Richard,  whose  influence  came  to  lead  the 
thought  of  the  time? 

Poor  Richard  was  a  comic  almanac,  or  a  character  assumed 


202  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

by  Benjamin  Franklin,  for  the  purpose  of  expressing  his  views 
of  life.  Having  established  a  paper,  Franklin  saw  the  need  of 
an  annual  and  of  an  almanac,  and  he  chose  to  combine  the  two, 
and  to  make  the  pamphlet  a  medium  of  hard  sense  in  a  rough, 
keen,  droll  way. 

He  introduces  himself  in  this  curious  annual  as  "  Richard 
Saunders,"  "  Poor  Richard."  He  has  an  industrious  wife 
named  Bridget.  He  publishes  his  almanac  to  earn  a  little 
money  to  meet  his  pressing  wants.  "  The  plain  truth  of  the 
matter  is,"  says  this  pretended  almanac  maker,  "  I  am  excessive 
poor,  and  my  wife,  good  woman,  is,  I  tell  her,  excessive  proud; 
she  cannot  bear,  she  says,  to  sit  spinning  in  her  gown  of  tow, 
while  I  do  nothing  but  gaze  at  the  stars;  and  has  threatened 
more  than  once  to  burn  all  my  books  and  rattling-traps  (as  she 
calls  my  instruments)  if  I  do  not  make  some  profitable  use  of 
them  for  the  good  of  my  family.  The  printer  has  offer'd  me 
some  considerable  share  of  the  profits,  and  I  have  thus  began  to 
comply  with  my  dame's  desire." 

This  Titian  Leeds  was  a  pen  name  for  his  rival  publisher, 
who  also  issued  an  almanac.  The  two  had  begun  life  in  Phila- 
delphia together  as  printers. 

The  way  in  which  he  refers  to  his  rival  in  his  new  almanac, 
as  a  man  about  to  die  to  fulfill  the  predictions  of  astrology,  was 
so  comical  as  to  excite  a  lively  interest.  Would  he  die?  If  not, 
what  would  the  next  almanac  say  of  him?  Mr.  Leeds  (Keimer) 
had  a  reputation  of  a  knowledge  of  astronomy  and  astrology. 
In  what  way  could  Franklin  have  introduced  a  character  to  the 
public  in  the  spirit  of  good-natured  rivalry  that  would  have 
awakened  a  more  genuine  curiosity? 


HOME-COMING  IN  DISGUISE.  2Q3 

The  next  year  Poor  Richard  announced  that  his  alma- 
nac had  proved  a  success,  and  told  the  public  the  news  that  they 
were  waiting  for  and  much  desired  to  hear:  his  wife  Bridget  had 
profited  by  it.  She  was  now  able  to  have  a  dinner-pot  of  her 
own,  and  something  to  put  into  it. 

But  how  about  Titian  Leeds,  who  was  to  die  after  the 
astrological  prediction?  The  people  awaited  the  news  of  the 
fate  of  this  poor  man,  as  we  await  the  tidings  of  the  end  of  a 
piece  of  statesmanship.  He  thus  answers,  "  I  can  not  say  posi- 
tively whether  he  is  dead  or  alive,"  but  as  the  author  of  the  rival 
almanac  had  spoken  very  disrespectfully  of  him,  and  as  Mr. 
Leeds  when  living  was  a  gentleman,  he  concludes  that  Mr. 
Leeds  must  be  dead. 

In  these  comic  annuals  there  is  not  only  the  almanacs  and 
the  play  upon  Titian  Leeds,  but  a  large  amount  of  rude  wisdom 
in  the  form  of  proverbs,  aphorisms,  and  verses,  most  of  which  is 
original,  but  a  part  of  which,  as  we  have  said,  is  apt  quotation. 
The  proverbs  were  everywhere  quoted,  and  became  a  part  of  the 
national  education.  They  became  popular  in  France,  and  filled 
nearly  all  Europe.  They  are  still  quoted.  Let  us  give  you 
some  of  them: 

"  Who  has  deceived  thee  so  oft  as  thyself?  " 

"  Fly  pleasures,  and  they  will  follow  thee." 

"  Let  thy  child's  first  lesson  be  obedience,  and  the  second 
will  be  what  thou  wilt." 

"  Industry  need  not  wish." 

"  In  things  of  moment,  on  thyself  depend, 
Nor  trust  too  far  thy  servant  or  thy  friend ; 
With  private  views,  thy  friend  may  promise  fair, 
And  servants  very  seldom  prove  sincere." 


204  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

Besides  these  quaint  sayings,  which  became  a  part  of  the 
proverbial  wisdom  of  the  world,  Franklin  had  a  comical  remark 
for  every  occasion,  as,  when  a  boy,  he  advised  his  father  to  say 
grace  over  the  whole  pork  barrel,  and  so  save  time  at  the  table. 
He  once  admonished  Jenny  in  regard  to  her  spelling,  and  that 
after  she  was  advanced  in  life,  by  telling  her  that  the  true  way 
to  spell  wife  was  yf.  After  the  treaty  of  peace  with  England, 
he  thought  it  only  a  courtesy  that  America  should  return  de- 
ported people  to  their  native  shores.  Once  in  Paris,  on  receiv- 
ing a  cake  labeled  Le  digne  Franklin,  which  excited  the  jeal- 
ousy of  Lee  and  Dean,  he  said  that  the  present  was  meant  for 
Lee-Dean-Franklin,  that  being  the  pronunciation  of  the  French 
label.  Every  event  had  a  comical  side  for  him. 

Let  us  bring  prosperous  Benjamin  Franklin  back  to  Boston 
to  see  his  widowed  mother  again,  after  the  old  story-book  man- 
ner. She  is  nearly  blind  now,  and  we  may  suppose  Jamie  the 
Scotchman  to  be  halting  and  old. 

He  comes  into  the  town  in  the  stagecoach  at  night.  Bos- 
ton has  grown.  The  grand  old  Province  House  rises  above 
it,  the  Indian  vane  turning  hither  and  thither  in  the  wind. 
The  old  town  pump  gleams  under  a  lantern,  as  does  the 
spring  in  Spring  Lane,  which  fountain  may  have  led  to 
the  settlement  of  the  town.  On  a  hill  a  beacon  gleams  over 
the  sea.  He  passes  the  stocks  and  the  whipping-post  in  the 
shadows. 

There  is  a  light  in  the  window  of  the  Blue  Ball.  He  sees 
it.  It  is  very  bright.  Is  his  mother  at  work  now  that  she  is 
nearly  blind? 

He  dismounts.     He  passes  close  to  the  old  window.     His 


HOME-COMING  IN  DISGUISE.  205 

father  is  not  in  the  room;  he  never  will  be  there  again.  But 
an  aged  man  is  there.  Who  is  he? 

The  man  is  reading— what?  The  most  popular  pam- 
phlet or  little  book  that  ever  appeared  in  the  colonies;  a  droll 
story. 

He  knocks  at  the  door.  The  old  man  rises  and  opens  the 
door;  the  bell  is  gone. 

"  Abiah,  there's  a  stranger  here." 

"  Ask  him  who  he  is." 

"  Say  that  he  used  to  work  here  many  years  ago,  and  that 
he  knew  Josiah  Franklin  well,  and  was  acquainted  with  Ben." 

"  Tell  him  to  come  in,"  said  the  bent  old  woman  with  white 
hair. 

The  stranger  entered,  and  avoided  questions  by  asking  them. 

"  What  are  you  reading  to-night,  my  good  friend? "  he 
asked. 

"  The  Old  Auctioneer,"  answered  the  aged  man.  "  Have 
you  read  it?  " 

"  Yes;  it  is  on  the  taxes." 

"  So  it  is — I've  read  it  twice  over.  I'm  now  reading  it  to 
Atjiah.  Let  me  tell  you  a  secret — her  son  wrote  it.  My  opin- 
ion is  that  it  is  the  smartest  piece  of  work  that  ever  saw  the 
light  on  this  side  of  the  water.  What's  yourn?  " 

"  There's  sense  in  it." 

"  What  did  he  say  his  name  was?  "  asked  Abiah. 

"Have  you  ever  read  any  of  Poor  Richard's  maxims?" 
asked  the  stranger  quickly. 

"Yes,  yes;  we  have  taken  the  Almanac  for  years.  Ben 
publishes  it." 


206  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

"  What  did  he  say?  "  asked  Ahiah.  "  I  can  not  hear  as  well 
as  I  once  could. — Stranger,  I  heard  you  when  you  spoke  loud 
at  the  door." 

"  Repeat  some  of  '  Poor  Richard's '  sayings,"  said  the 
stranger. 

"  You  may  well  say  '  repeat,'  "  said  the  old  man.  "  I  used 
to  hear  Ben  Franklin  say  things  like  that  when  he  was  a  'pren- 
tice lad." 

"  Like  what,  my  friend?  " 

"  Like  '  The  noblest  question  in  the  world  is  what  good  may 
1  do  in  it?'  There!  Like  'None  preaches  better  than  the 
ant,  and  she  says  nothing.'  There! " 

"  I  see,  I  see,  my  good  friend,  you  seem  to  have  confidence 
in  Poor  Richard?  " 

"  Sir,  I  taught  him  much  of  his  wisdom — he  and  I  used  to 
be  great  friends.  I  always  knew  that  he  had  a  star  in  his  soul 
that  would  shine — I  foresaw  it  all.  I  have  the  gift  of  second 
sight.  I  am  a  Scotchman." 

"  And  you  prophesied  good  things  to  him  when  he  was  a 
boy?" 

"  Yes,  yes,  or,  if  I  did  not,  I  only  spoke  in  a  discouraging 
way  to  encourage  him.  He  and  I  were  chums;  we  used  to  sit 
on  Long  Wharf  together  and  prognosticate  together.  That 
was  a  kind  of  Harvard  College  to  us.  Uncle  Ben  was  living 
then." 

"  Maybe  the  stranger  would  like  you  to  read  The  Old  Auc- 
tioneer," said  Abiah  to  the  Scotchman.  "  My  boy  wrote  that— 
he  told  you.  My  boy  has  good  sense — Jamie  here  will  tell  you 
so.  I'm  older  now  than  I  was." 


HOME-COMING  IN  DISGUISE. 

!<  Yes,  yes,  read,  and  let  me  rest.  When  the  bell  rings  for 
nine  I  will  go  to  the  inn." 

"  Maybe  we  can  keep  you  here.  We'll  talk  it  over  later. 
I  want  to  hear  Ben's  piece.  I'm  his  mother,  and  they  tell  me 
it  is  interesting  to  people  who  are  no  relation  to  him.— Jamie, 
you  read  the  piece,  and  then  we  will  talk  over  the  past.  It 
seems  like  meeting  Ben  again  to  hear  his  pieces  read." 

Jamie  the  Scotchman  read,  and  while  he  did  so  Abiah, 
wrinkled  and  old,  looked  often  toward  the  stranger  out  of  her 
dim  eyes,  while  she  listened  to  her  son's  always  popular  story 
of  The  Old  Auctioneer. 

"  That  is  a  very  good  piece,"  said  Abiah  Franklin;  "  and 
now,  stranger,  let  me  say  that  your  voice  sounds  familiar,  and 
I  want  you  to  tell  me  in  a  good  strong  tone  who  you  be.  I 
didn't  hear  you  give  any  name." 

"  Is  it  almost  nine?  "  asked  the  stranger. 

Jamie  opened  the  door. 

A  bell  smote  the  still  air,  a  silverlike  bell.  It  spoke  nine 
times. 

"  I  never  heard  that  bell  before,"  said  the  stranger. 

Suddenly  music  flooded  the  air;  it  seemed  descending; 
there  were  many  bells — and  they  were  singing. 

"  The  Old  North  chimes,"  said  the  Scotchman;  "  they  have 
just  been  put  up.  I  wish  Ben  could  hear  them;  I  sort  of  carry 
him  in  my  heart." 

"  Don't  speak!  It  is  beautiful,"  said  the  stranger.  "  Hear 
what  they  are  saying." 

"  0  Jamie,  Jamie,  father  used  to  play  that  tune  on  his 
violin." 


208  TRUE  T0  HIS  HOME. 

"  Father! "     The  old  woman  started. 

"Ben,  Ben,  how  could  you!  Come  here;  my  eyes  are  fail- 
ing me,  Ben,  but  my  heart  will  never  fail  me. — Jamie,  pre- 
pare for  him  his  old  room,  and  leave  us  to  talk  together!  " 

"  I  will  go  out  to  Mrs.  Mecom's,  and  tell  her  that  Benjamin 
has  come  home." 

"  Yes,  yes,  go  and  call  Jenny." 

They  talked  together  long:  of  Josiah,  now  gone;  of  Uncle 
Benjamin,  long  dead;  and  of  Parson  Sewell,  and  the  deacons 
of  the  South  Church,  who  had  passed  away. 

The  door  opened.  Jenny  again  stood  before  him.  She  led 
on  a  boy  by  the  hand,  and  said  to  her  portly  brother: 

"  This,  Benjamin,  is  Benjamin." 

They  talked  together  until  the  tears  came. 

He  heard  the  whir  of  the  swallows'  wings  in  the  chimney. 

"  The  swallows  come  back,"  he  said,  "  but  they  will  never 
come  again.  It  fills  my  heart  with  tenderness  to  hear  these 
old  home  sounds." 

"  No,  they  will  never  come  back  from  the  mosses  and  ferns 
under  the  elms,"  said  his  mother.  "  The  orioles  come,  the 
orchards  bloom,  and  summer  lights  up  the  hills,  and  the  leaves 
fall,  but  they  will  know  no  more  changes  or  seasons.  And  I 
am  going  after  their  feet  into  the  silence,  Ben;  I  have  almost 
got  through.  You  have  been  a  true  son  in  the  main,  and  Jenny 
has  never  stepped  aside  from  the  way.  Always  be  good  to 
Jenny." 

"  Jenny,  always  be  true  to  mother,  and  I  will  be  as  true  to 
you." 

"  Brother,  I  shall  always  be  true  to  my  home." 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

"  THOSE   PAMPHLETS." 

BENJAMIN  FBANKLIN  loved  to  meet  Samuel  Franklin, 
Uncle  Benjamin's  son,  who  also  had  caught  the  gentle  philoso- 
pher's spirit,  and  was  making  good  his  father's  intention.  Sam- 
uel was  a  thrifty  man  in  a  growing  town. 

"  It  is  the  joy  of  my  life  to  find  you  so  prosperous,"  said 
Franklin,  "  for  it  would  have  made  your  father's  heart 
happy  could  he  have  known  that  one  day  I  would  find  you  so. 
Samuel,  your  father  was  a  good  man.  I  shall  never  cease  to 
be  grateful  for  his  influence  over  me  when  I  was  a  boy.  He 
was  my  schoolmaster." 

"  Yes,  my  father  was  a  good  man,  and  I  never  saw  it  as  I 
do  now.  I  was  not  all  to  him  that  I  ought  to  have  been.  He 
was  a  poor  man;  he  lived  as  it  were  on  ideas,  and  people 
were  accustomed  to  look  upon  him  as  a  man  who  had  failed 
in  life." 

"  He  will  never  fail  while  you  are  a  man  of  right  influence," 
said  Franklin.  "  He  lives  in  you." 

"  I  feel  his  influence  more  and  more  every  day,"  said 
Samuel. 

"  Samuel  Franklin,  I  do.  Success  does  not  consist  in  popu- 

209 


210  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

larity  or  money-making.  Eight  influence  is  success  in  life.  I 
have  been  an  unworthy  godson  of  your  father,  but  I  am  more 
than  ever  determined  to  carry  out  the  principles  that  he  taught 
me;  they  are  the  only  things  that  will  stand  in  life;  as  for  the 
rest,  the  grave  swallows  all.  Your  father's  life  shall  never  be 
a  failure  if  my  life  can  bring  to  it  honor. 

"  Samuel,  I  have  not  always  done  my  best,  but  I  resolve 
more  and  more  to  be  worthy  of  the  love  of  all  men  when  I 
think  of  what  a  character  your  father  developed.  He  thought 
of  himself  last.  He  did  not  die  poor.  His  hands  were  empty, 
but  not  his  heart,  and  there  sleeps  no  richer  man  in  the  Granary 
burying  ground  than  he. 

"  Samuel,  he  parted  with  his  library  containing  the  notes 
of  his  best  thoughts  in  life  in  his  efforts  to  come  to  America 
to  give  me  the  true  lessons  in  life  because  I  bore  his  name.  It 
was  a  brotherly  thought  indeed  that  led  my  father  who  loved 
him  to  name  me  for  him." 

"  You  speak  of  his  library — his  collection  of  religious  books 
and  pamphlets,  which  he  wrote  over  with  his  own  ideas;  you 
have  touched  a  tender  spot  in  my  heart.  He  wanted  that  I 
should  have  those  pamphlets,  and  that  I  should  try  to  recover 
them  through  some  London  agent.  You  are  going  to  London. 
Do  you  think  that  they  could  be  recovered  after  so  many 
years  ?  " 

"  Samuel,  there  is  a  strange  thing  that  I  have  observed.  It 
is  this:  When  a  man  looks  earnestly  for  a  thing  that  some  one 
has  desired  him  to  have,  his  mind  is  curiously  influenced- and  has 
strange  directions.  It  is  like  blindfolded  children  playing  hot 
and  cold.  There  is  some  strange  instinct  in  one  who  seeks  a 


"THOSE  PAMPHLETS."  211 

hidden  object  for  his  own  or  others'  good  that  leads  his  feet  into 
mysterious  ways.  I  have  much  faith  in  that  hidden  law. 
Samuel,  I  may  be  able  to  find  those  pamphlets;  I  thought  of 
them  when  I  was  in  London.  If  I  do,  I  will  buy  them  at  what- 
ever cost,  and  will  bring  them  to  you,  and  may  both  of  us  try 
to  honor  the  name  of  that  loving,  forgiving,  noble  man  until 
we  see  each  other  again.  It  may  be  that  when  I  shall  come 
here  another  time,  if  I  do,  I  will  bring  with  me  the  pamphlets." 

"  If  you  were  to  find  them,  I  would  indeed  believe  in  a  spe- 
cial Providence." 

The  two  parted.  Poor  Uncle  Benjamin  had  sold  his  books 
for  money,  but  was  his  life  a  failure,  or  was  he  never  living 
more  nobly  than  now? 

Franklin  went  to  the  Granary  burying  ground,  where  the 
old  man  slept.  Great  elms  stood  before  the  place.  He  thought 
of  what  his  parents  had  been,  how  they  had  struggled  and 
toiled,  and  how  glad  they  were  that  Uncle  Benjamin  had  come 
to  them  for  his  sake.  He  resolved  to  erect  a  monument  there. 

He  recalled  Uncle  Benjamin's  teaching,  that  a  man  rises  by 
overcoming  his  defects,  and  so  gains  strength. 

He  had  tried  to  profit  by  the  old  man's  lesson  in  answer 
to  his  own  question,  "  Have  I  a  chance?  " 

He  had  not  only  struggled  to  make  strong  his  conscious 
weaknesses  of  character,  but  those  of  his  mental  power  as  well. 

His  old  pedagogue,  Mr.  Brownell,  had  been  unable  to  teach 
him  mathematics.  In  this  branch  of  elementary  studies  he  had 
proved  a  failure  and  a  dunce.  But  he  had  struggled  against 
this  defect  of  Nature,  as  against  all  others,  with  success. 

He  was  going  to  London  as  the  agent  of  the  colonies.    He 


212  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

would  carry  back  to  England  those  principles  that  the  old  man 
had  taught  him,  and  would  live  them  there.  His  Uncle  Ben- 
jamin had  written  those  principles  in  his  "  pamphlets/'  and 
again  in  his  own  life.  Would  he  ever  see  these  documents 
which  had  in  fact  been  his  schoolbooks,  but  which  had  come 
to  him  without  the  letter,  because  the  old  man  had  been  too 
poor  to  keep  the  books? 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

A    STRANGE   DISCOVERY. 

FRANKLIN  went  to  London. 

Franklin  loved  old  bookstores.  There  were  many  in  Lon- 
don, moldy  and  musty,  in  obscure  corners,  some  of  them  in 
cellars  and  in  narrow  passageways,  just  off  thronging  streets. 

One  day,  when  he  was  sixty  years  of  age,  just  fifty  years 
after  his  association  with  Uncle  Benjamin,  he  wandered  out 
into  the  byways  of  the  old  London  bookstores. 

It  was  early  spring;  the  winter  fogs  of  London  had  disap- 
peared, the  squares  were  turning  green,  the  hedgerows  bloom- 
ing, the  birds  were  singing  on  the  thorns.  Such  a  sunny,  blue 
morning  might  have  called  him  into  the  country,  but  he  turned 
instead  into  the  flowerless  ways  of  the  book  stalls.  He  wan- 
dered about  for  a  time  and  found  nothing.  Then  he  thought 
of  old  Humphrey,  of  whom  he  had  bought  books  perhaps  out 
of  pity.  There  was  something  about  this  man  that  held  him; 
he  seemed  somehow  like  a  link  of  the  unknown  past.  He  com- 
pelled him  to  buy  books  that  he  did  not  want  or  need. 

"  This  is  a  fine  spring  morning,"  said  old  Humphrey,  as  he 

saw  the  portly  form  of  Franklin  enter  the  door.     "  I  have  been 

thinking  of  you  much  of  late.     I  do  not  seem  to  be  able  to  have 

put  you  out  of  my  mind;  and  why  should  I,  a  fine  gentleman 

15  213 


214  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

like  you,  and  uncommonly  civil.  I  have  something  that  I 
have  been  allotting  on  showing  you.  It  is  very  curious;  it  is  a 
library  of  thirty-six  volumes  of  pamphlets,  and  it  minds  me  that 
a  more  interesting  collection  of  pamphlets  was  never  made.  I 
read  them  myself  in  lonesome  days  when  there  is  no  trade. 
Let  me  show  you  one  of  the  volumes." 

"  No,  never  mind,  my  friend.  I  could  not  buy  the  whole 
library,  however  interesting  it  might  be.  I  will  look  for  some- 
thing smaller.  This  is  a  very  old  bookstore." 

"  Ay,  it  is  that.  It  has  been  kept  here  ever  since  the  times 
of  the  Restoration,  and  before.  My  wife's  father  used  to  keep 
it  when  he  was  an  old  man  and  I  was  a  boy.  And  now  I  am 
an  old  man.  I  must  show  you  one  of  those  books  or  pam- 
phlets. They  are  all  written  over." 

Benjamin  Franklin  sat  down  on  a  stool  in  the  light,  and 
took  up  .an  odd  volume  of  the  Canterbury  Tales. 

Old  Humphrey  lighted  a  candle  and  went  into  a  dark  recess. 
He  presently  returned,  bringing  one  of  the  thirty-six  volumes 
of  pamphlets. 

"  My  American  friend,  if  one  liked  old  things,  and  the  com- 
ments of  one  dead  and  gone,  this  library  of  pamphlets  would 
be  food  for  thought.  Just  look  at  this  volume!  " 

He  struck  the  book  against  a  shelf  to  remove  the  dust, 
and  handed  it  to  Franklin. 

The  latter  adjusted  his  spectacles  to  the  light,  and  turned 
over  the  volume. 

"  As  you  say,"  he  said  to  old  Humphrey,  "  it  is  all  writ- 
ten over." 

"  And  uncommonly  interesting  comments  they  are.     That 


A    STRANGE    DISCOVERY. 


A  STRANGE  DISCOVERY.  215 

library  of  pamphlets  and  comments,  in  my  opinion,  is  as  valu- 
able as  Pepys's  Diary. 

Old  Humphrey  had  struck  the  right  chord.  In  Pepys's 
Diary,  which  was  kept  for  nine  years  during  the  gay  and  ex- 
citing period  of  the  reign  of  Charles  II,  one  lives,  as  it  were, 
amid  the  old  court  scenes. 

Franklin  turned  over  the  leaves  of  the  volume.  "  It  is  a 
curious  book,"  said  he. 

The  light  was  poor,  and  he  took  the  book  to  the  door. 
Above  the  tall  houses  of  the  narrow  street  was  a  rift  of  sunny 
blue  sky. 

"  There  is  something  in  the  handwriting  that  looks  famil- 
iar," said  he.  "  It  seems  as  though  I  had  seen  that  writing 
somewhere  before.  Where  did  you  find  these  books? " 

"  They  came  to  me  from  my  wife's  father,  who  kept  the 
storeway  until  he  was  nigh  upon  ninety  years  old.  He  set 
great  store  by  these  books,  which  led  me  to  read  them. 

"  When  Pepys's  Diary  was  printed  I  was  reminded  'of  them, 
and  read  them  over  again,  the  comments  and  all.  The  person 
who  made  those  notes  had  a  very  interesting  mind.  I  think 
him  to  have  been  a  philosopher." 

The  ink  on  the  margin  of  the  volume  was  fading,  and 
Franklin  strained  his  eyes  to  read  the  comments.  Suddenly 
he  turned  and  came  into  the  store  and  sat  down. 

"  Father  Humphrey,  bring  me  another  volume." 

•Father  Humphrey  lighted  the  candle  again  and  went  into 
the  same  dark  and  tomblike  recess,  and  brought  out  two  more 
volumes,  striking  them  against  the  corners  of  shelves  to  remove 
from  them  the  dust  and  mold. 


216  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

He  noticed  that  his  patron  seemed  overcome.  Franklin 
was  not  an  emotional  man,  but  his  lip  quivered. 

"  You  think  that  the  book  is  interesting?  " 

He  lifted  his  face  and  seemed  lost  in  thought. 

"Ecton — Ecton — Ecton,"  he  said.  "Uncle  Tom  lived 
there — Uncle  Tom,  who  started  the  subscription  for  the  chime 
of  bells." 

He  had  found  the  word  "  Ecton  "  in  the  pamphlets,  and 
he  again  began  to  turn  the  leaves. 

"  Squire  Isted,"  he  said,  "  Squire  Isted."  He  had  found 
the  name  of  Squire  Isted  on  one  of  the  leaves.  He  had  heard 
the  name  in  his  youth. 

"  The  World's  End,"  he  said.  He  stood  up  and  turned 
round  and  round. 

"  How  queer  he  acts! "  thought  Father  Humphrey.  "  I 
thought  him  a  very  calm  man.  What  is  it  about  the  World's 
End?"  he  asked. 

"  Oh,  it  is  the  name  of  an  old  tavern  that  I  have  found  here. 
I  had  some  great-uncles  that  used  to  have  a  farm  and  forge 
near  an  inn  of  that  name.  That  was  very  long  ago,  before  I 
was  born.  Old  names  seem  to  me  like  voices  of  the  past." 

He  put  his  spectacles  to  his  eyes  and  held  the  book  again 
up  to  the  light. 

He  presently  said:  "Luke  Fuller — that  is  an  old  English 
name;  there  was  such  a  one  who  was  ousted  for  nonconformity 
in  the  days  of  the  Conventicles." 

He  turned  round  and  lifted  his  face  and  stood  still,  like  a 
statue. 

Was  he  going  mad?     Poor  old  Father  Humphrey  began  to 


A  STRANGE  DISCOVERY. 

look  toward  the  door  to  see  if  there  were  clear  way  of  escape 
for  him  should  the  strange  man  become  violent. 

Presently  he  said: 

"  Earls — Barton/'  and  lifted  his  brows. 

Then  he  said: 

"  Hears — Ashby,"  and  lifted  his  brows  higher. 

"  What,  sir,  is  it  about  Earls — Barton,  and  Mears — Ashby?  " 
asked  the  timid  Father  Humphrey. 

"  Oh,  you  are  here.  I've  heard  of  these  places  before — it 
was  many  years  ago.  Some  folks  came  over  to  America  from 
there." 

He  turned  to  the  book  again.  "  An  Essay  on  the  Tolera- 
tion Act,"  said  he.  "  Banbury,"  he  continued.  He  dropped 
the  book  by  his  side,  and  lifted  his  brows  again. 

Poor  Father  Humphrey  now  thought  that  his  customer 
had  indeed  gone  daft,  and  was  beginning  to  repeat  an  old 
nursery  rhyme  that  that  name  suggested. 

The  book  went  up  to  the  light  again.  Old  Humphrey, 
frightened,  passed  him  and  went  to  the  door,  so  that  he  might 
run  if  his  strange  visitor  should  be  incited  to  do  him  harm. 

Suddenly  a  very  alarming  expression  came  over  the  book- 
finder's  face.  What  would  he  do  next,  this  calm,  grand  old 
man,  who  was  going  out  of  his  senses  in  this  unfortunate 
place? 

He  dropped  the  book  by  his  side  again,  and  said,  as  in  the 
voice  of  another,  a  long-gone  voice: 

"  Reuben  of  the  Mill— Reuben  of  the  Mill! " 

Poor  Father  Humphrey  thought  he  was  summoning  the 
ghost  of  some  strange  being  from  the  recesses  of  the  cellar.  He 


218  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

began  to  walk  away,  when  the  supposed  mind-shattered  Amer- 
ican seemed  to  be  returning  to  himself,  and  said  in  a  very  calm 
and  dignified  manner: 

"  Father  Humphrey,  you  must  think  that  I  have  been  act- 
ing strangely.  There  are  some  notes  here  that  recall  old  names 
and  places.  They  carried  my  thoughts  away  back  to  the 
past." 

The  timid  man  came  into  the  shop  hopeful  of  a  bargain. 

"  It  is  a  useful  book,  I  should  think,"  said  Franklin,  as  if 
holding  himself  in  restraint. 

He  took  the  two  other  volumes  that  Father  Humphrey  had 
brought  him  and  began  to  look  them  over. 

"  Father  Humphrey,  what  do  you  want  for  the  whole  library 
of  the  pamphlets?  " 

"  I  do  not  exactly  know  what  price  to  fix  upon  them.  They 
might  be  valuable  to  an  antiquarian  some  day,  perhaps  to  some 
solicitor,  or  to  a  library.  I  would  be  glad  to  sell  them  to  you, 
for  somehow — and  I  speak  out  of  my  heart,  and  use  no  trade 
language — somehow  I  want  you  to  buy  them.  "Would  five 
pounds  be  too  much  for  the  thirty  volumes?  " 

"  No,  no.  There  are  but  few  that  would  want  them  or  give 
them  room.  I  will  pay  you  five  pounds  for  them.  I  will  take 
one  vohime  away,  but  for  the  present  you  shall  keep  the  others 
for  me." 

He  left  the  store.  It  was  a  bright  day.  Happy  faces 
passed  him,  but  he  saw  them  not.  He  walked,  indeed,  the 
streets  of  London,  but  it  was  the  Boston  of  his  childhood  that 
was  with  him  now.  He  wondered  at  what  he  had  found — he 
wondered  if  there  were  mysterious  influences  behind  life;  for 


A  STRANGE  DISCOVERY.  219 

he  was  certain  that  these  pamphlets  were  those  that  his  god- 
father Uncle  Benjamin  had  so  valued  as  a  part  of  himself,  and 
that  the  notes  on  the  margin  of  the  leaves  were  in  the  hand- 
writing of  the  same  kind-hearted  man  whose  influence  had  so 
molded  his  young  life. 

He  went  to  his  apartments,  and  sat  down  at  his  table  and 
read  the  pamphlet  and  the  notes.  He  found  in  the  notes  the 
very  thoughts  and  the  same  expressions  of  thought  that  he  had 
received  from  Uncle  Benjamin  in  his  childhood. 

What  a  life  had  been  his,  and  how  much  he  owed  to  this 
honest,  pure-minded  old  man! 

He  started  up. 

"  I  must  go  back  to  Father  Humphrey,"  he  said,  "  and  find 
of  whom  he  obtained  these  books.  If  these  are  Uncle  Benja- 
min's pamphlets,  this  is  the  strangest  incident  in  all  my  life; 
it  would  look  as  though  there  was  a  finger  of  Providence  in  it. 
I  must  go  back — I  must  go  back." 


CHAPTEK  XXXI. 

OLD  HUMPHREY'S  STRANGE  STORY. 

IN  his  usual  serene  manner — for  he  very  rarely  became  ex- 
cited, notwithstanding  that  hia  conduct  and  his  absentminded- 
ness  had  surprised  old  Humphrey — Mr.  Franklin  made  his  way 
again  to  the  bookstore  in  the  alley. 

Old  Humphrey  welcomed  him  with — 

"  Well,  I  am  glad  to  see  you  again,  my  American  patron. 
Did  you  find  the  volume  interesting?" 

"  Yes,  Father  Humphrey,  that  was  an  interesting  book)  and 
there  were  some  very  curious  comments  in  it.  The  notes  on 
the  Conventicles  and  the  Toleration  Act  greatly  interested  me. 
The  man  who  was  the  compiler  of  that  book  of  pamphlets 
seems  to  have  been  a  poet,  and  to  have  had  relatives  who  were 
advocates  of  justice.  I  was  struck  by  many  wise  comments 
that  I  found  in  it  written  in  a  peculiar  hand.  Father  Hum- 
phrey, who  do  you  suppose  made  those  notes?  Where  did  you 
find  those  pamphlets?  How  did  they  come  to  you?*" 

"  Well,  that  would  be  hard  to  say.  Those  volumes  of 
pamphlets  have  been  in  the  store  many  years,  and  I  have  often 
tried  to  find  a  purchaser  for  them.  They  must  have  come  down 
from  the  times  of  the  Restoration.  I  wouldn't  wonder  if  they 

220 


OLD  HUMPHREY'S  STRANGE  STORY.  221 

were  as  old  as  Cromwell's  day.  There  is  much  about  Ban- 
bury  in  them,  and  old  Lord  Halifax." 

"  Old  Lord  Halifax! "  said  Franklin  in  surprise,  walking 
about  with  a  far-away  look  in  his  face  again  and  his  hands  be- 
hind him.  "  I  did  not  find  that  name  in  the  volume  that  I  took 
home.  I  had  an  uncle  who  received  favors  from  old  Lord 
Halifax." 

"  You  did,  hey?    Where  did  he  live?  " 

"  In  Ecton,  or  in  Nottingham." 

"  Now,  that  is  curious.  It  may  be  that  he  made  the  library 
of  pamphlets." 

"  No,  no;  if  he  had,  he  would  never  have  sold  them.  He 
was  a  well-to-do  man.  But  you  have  not  answered  my  ques- 
tions as  to  how  the  library  of  pamphlets  came  to  you." 

"  I  can't.  I  found  them  here  when  I  took  charge  of  the 
store.  My  wife's  father,  as  I  said,  used  to  keep  the  store.  He 
died  suddenly  in  old  age,  and  left  the  store  to  my  wife.  He 
had  made  a  better  living  than  I  out  of  my  business.  So  I  took 
the  store.  I  found  the  books  here.  I  do  not  know  where  my 
father-in-law  obtained  them.  It  was  his  business  to  buy  rare 
books,  and  then  find  a  way  to  some  antiquarian  of  means  who 
might  want  them.  The  owner's  name  was  not  left  in  these 
books.  I  have  looked  for  it  many  times.  But  there  are  names 
of  Nottingham  people  there,  and  when  old  Lord  Halifax  used 
to  visit  London  I  tried  to  interest  him  in  them,  but  he  did  not 
care  to  buy  them." 

"  Father  Humphrey,  what  was  your  wife's  father's 
name?" 

"  His  name  was  Axel,  sir.     He  was  a  good  man,  sir.    He 


222  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

attended  the  conventicles,  sir,  and  became  a  Brownite,  sir, 
and " 

Was  the  American  gentleman  going  daft  again? 

He  stopped  at  the  name  of  Axel,  and  lifted  his  brows.  He 
turned  around,  and  bowed  over  with  a  look  of  intense  interest. 

"  Did  you  say  Axel,  Father  Humphrey? " 

"  Axel,  your  honor.  Axel.  I  once  heard  him  say  that  sev- 
eral of  these  pamphlets  were  suppressed  after  the  Eestoration, 
and  that  they  were  rare  and  valuable.  I  heard  him  say  that 
they  would  be  useful  to  a  historian,  sir." 

"  I  will  pay  you  for  the  books,  and  you  may  hold  them  in 
trust  for  me.  They  will  be  sent  for  some  day,  or  it  may  be  that 
I  will  call  for  them  myself.  My  uncle  owned  those  books.  It 
would  have  been  the  dearest  thing  of  his  life  could  the  old  man 
have  seen  what  has  now  happened.  Father  Humphrey,  one's 
heart's  desires  bring  about  strange  things.  They  shape  events 
after  a  man  is  dead.  It  seems  to  me  as  though  I  had  been  di- 
rected here.  Father  Humphrey,  what  do  you  think  of  such 
things?" 

u  Well,  I  don't  know.  From  the  time  that  I  first  saw  you 
ray  mind  was  turned  to  the  pamphlets.  I  don't  know  why. 
Perhaps  the  owner's  thought,  or  desires,  or  prayers  led  me. 
It  is  all  very  strange." 

"  Yes,  it  is  very  strange,"  said  Franklin,  again  walking  to 
and  fro  with  his  hands  behind  him.  "  I  wish  that  all  good 
men's  works  could  be  fulfilled  in  this  way." 

"  How  do  you  know  that  they  are  not?  " 

"  Let  us  hope  that  they  are." 

"  This  is  all  very  strange." 


OLD  HUMPHREY'S  STRANGE  STORY.  223 

"  Very  strange,  very  strange.  It  is  the  greatest  of  bless- 
ings in  life  to  have  had  good  ancestors.  Uncle  Ben  was  a 
good  old  man.  I  owe  much  to  him,  and  now  I  seem  to  have 
met  with  him  again — Uncle  Benjamin,  my  father's  favorite 
brother,  who  used  to  carry  me  sailing  and  made  the  boat  a 
schoolroom  for  me  in  the  harbor  of  Boston  town." 

He  added  to  himself  in  an  absent  way:  "  Samuel  Franklin 
and  I  have  promised  to  live  so  as  to  honor  the  character  of  this 
old  man.  I  have  a  great  task  before  me,  and  I  can  not  tell 
what  the  issue  will  be,  but  I  will  hold  these  pamphlets  and 
keep  them  until  I  can  look  into  Samuel's  face  and  say,  '  Eng- 
land has  done  justice  to  America,  and  your  father's  influence 
has  advanced  the  cause  of  human  rights  in  the  world.' " 

Would  that  day  ever  come? 

He  went  to  Ecton,  in  Nottinghamshire,  with  his  son, 
and  there  heard  the  chimes  in  the  steeple  that  had  been 
placed  there  by  Thomas  Franklin's  influence.  He  visited 
the  graves  of  his  ancestors  and  the  homes  of  many  poor 
people  who  bore  the  Franklin  name.  He  found  three  let- 
ters that  his  Uncle  Benjamin  had  written  home.  He  read  in 
them  the  names  of  himself  and  Jenny.  How  his  heart  must 
have  turned  home  on  that  visit!  A  biographer  of  Franklin 
tells  his  story  in  a  beautiful  simplicity  that  leaves  no  call  for 
fictitious  enlargement.  He  says:  "  Franklin  discovered  a 
cousin,  a  happy  and  venerable  old  maid;  'a  good,  clever 
woman,'  he  wrote,  '  but  poor,  though  vastly  contented  with  her 
situation,  and  very  cheerful ' — a  genuine  Franklin,  evidently. 
She  gave  him  some  of  his  Uncle  Benjamin's  old  letters  to  read, 
with  their  pious  rhymings  and  acrostics,  in  which  occurred 


224  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

allusions  to  himself  and  his  sister  Jane  when  they  were  children. 
Continuing  their  journey,  father  and  son  reached  Ecton,  where 
so  many  successive  Franklins  had  plied  the  blacksmith's  ham- 
mer. They  found  that  the  farm  of  thirty  acres  had  been  sold 
to  strangers.  The  old  stone  cottage  of  their  ancestors  was  used 
for  a  school,  but  was  still  called  the  Franklin  House.  Many 
relations  and  connections  they  hunted  up,  most  of  them  old  and 
poor,  but  endowed  with  the  inestimable  Franklinian  gift  of 
making  the  best  of  their  lot.  They  copied  tombstones;  they 
examined  the  parish  register;  they  heard  the  chime  of  bells 
play  which  Uncle  Thomas  had  caused  to  be  purchased  for  the 
quaint  old  Ecton  church  seventy  years  before;  and  examined 
other  evidences  of  his  worth  and  public  spirit." 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

THE  EAGLE  THAT  CAUGHT  THE  CAT.— DR.  FRANKLIN'S  ENGLISH 
FABLE. — THE   DOCTOR'S    SQUIRRELS. 

WHEN  Dr.  Franklin  was  abroad  the  first  time  after  the  mis- 
adventure with  Governor  Keith,  and  was  an  agent  of  the  col- 
onies, his  fame  as  a  scientist  gave  him  a  place  in  the  highest 
intellectual  circles  of  England,  and  among  his  friends  were  sev- 
eral clergymen  of  the  English  Church  and  certain  noblemen 
of  eminent  force  and  character. 

When  in  1775,  while  he  was  again  the  colonial  agent,  the 
events  in  America  became  exciting,  his  position  as  the  repre- 
sentative American  in  England  compelled  him  to  face  the  ris- 
ing tide  against  his  country.  He  was  now  sixty-nine  years  of 
age.  He  was  personally  popular,  although  the  king  came  to 
regard  him  with  disfavor,  and  once  called  him  that  "  insidious 
man."  But  he  never  failed,  at  any  cost  of  personal  reputation, 
to  defend  the  American  cause. 

His  good  humor  never  forsook  him,  and  the  droll,  quaint 
wisdom  that  had  appeared  in  Poor  Richard  was  turned  to 
good  account  in  the  advocacy  of  the  rights  of  the  American 
colonies. 

One  evening  he  dined  at  the  house  of  a  nobleman.  It  was 
in  the  year  of  the  Concord  fight,  when  political  events  in  Amer- 

225 


226  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

ica  were  hurrying  and  were  exciting  all  minds  in  both  coun- 
tries. 

They  talked  of  literature  at  the  party,  but  the  political 
situation  was  uppermost  in  the  minds  of  all. 

A  gentleman  was  present  whose  literary  mind  made  him 
very  interesting  to  such  circles. 

"  The  art  of  the  illustration  of  the  principles  of  life  in 
fable,"  he  said,  "is  exhausted.  ^Esop,  La  Fontaine,  Gay,  and 
others  have  left  nothing  further  to  be  produced  in  parable 
teaching." 

The  view  was  entertaining.     He  added: 

"  There  is  not  left  a  bird,  animal,  or  fish  that  could  be 
made  the  subject  of  any  original  fable." 

Dr.  Franklin  seemed  to  be  very  thoughtful  for  a  time. 

"  What  is  your  opinion,  doctor?  "  asked  the  literary  gentle- 
man. 

"  You  are  wrong,  sir.  The  opportunity  to  produce 
fables  is  limitless.  Almost  every  event  offers  the  fabric  of  a 
fable." 

"  Could  you  write  a  fable  on  any  of  the  events  of  the  pres- 
ent time?  "  asked  the  lord  curiously. 

"  If  you  will  order  pen  and  ink  and  paper,  I  will  give  you 
a  picture  of  the  times  in  fable.     A  fable  comes  to  me  now." 
<-     The  lord  ordered  the  writing  material. 

What  new  animals  or  birds  had  taken  possession  of  Frank- 
lin's fancy?  No  new  animals  or  birds,  but  old  ones  in  new 
relations. 

Franklin  wrote  out  his  fable  and  proceeded  to  read  it.  It 
was  a  short  one,  but  the  effect  was  direct  and  surprising.  The 


DR.   FRANKLIN'S  ENGLISH  FABLE.  227 

lord's  face  must  have  changed  when  he  listened  to  it,  for  it 
was  a  time  when  such  things  struck  to  the  heart. 

The  fable  not  only  showed  Dr.  Franklin's  invention,  but 
his  courage.  It  was  as  follows:  "  Once  upon  a  time  an  eagle, 
scaling  round  a  farmer's  barn  and  espying  a  hare,  darted  down 
upon  him  like  a  sunbeam,  seized  him  in  his  claws,  and  re- 
mounted with  him  to  the  air.  He  soon  found  that  he  had  a 
creature  of  more  courage  and  strength  than  a  hare,  for  which, 
notwithstanding  the  keenness  of  his  eyesight,  he  had  mistaken 
a  cat. 

"  The  snarling  and  scrambling  of  his  prey  were  very  incon- 
venient, and,  what  was  worse,  she  had  disengaged  herself  from 
his  talons,  grasped  his  body  with  her  four  limbs,  so  as  to 
stop  his  breath,  and  seized  fast  hold  of  his  throat  with  her 
teeth. 

"  *  Pray/  said  the  eagle,  '  let  go  your  hold,  and  I  will  re- 
lease you.' 

" '  Very  fine,'  said  the  cat;  '  I  have  no  fancy  to  fall  from 
this  height  and  be  crushed  to  death.  You  have  taken  me  up, 
and  you  shall  stoop  and  let  me  down.'  The  eagle  thought  it 
necessary  to  stoop  accordingly." 

The  eagle,  of  course,  represented  England,  and  the  cat 
America. 

Dr.  Franklin  was  a  lover  of  little  children  and  animals— 
among  pet  animals,  of  the  American  squirrel. 

When  he  returned  to  England  the  second  time  as  an  agent 
of  the  colonies,  he  wished  to  make  some  presents  to  his  Eng- 
lish friends  who  had  families. 

He  liked  not  only  to  please  children,  but  to  give  them  those 


228  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

things  which  would  delight  them.  So  he  took  over  to  Eng- 
land for  presents  a  cage  full  of  pranky  little  squirrels. 

Among  the  families  of  children  whom  he  loved  was  Dr. 
Shipley's,  the  bishop,  who  had  a  delightful  little  daughter, 
and  to  her  the  great  Dr.  Franklin,  who  Avas  believed  to  com- 
mand the  visible  heavens,  made  a  present  of  a  cunning  Amer- 
ican squirrel. 

The  girl  came  to  love  the  pet.  It  was  a  truly  American 
squirrel;  it  sought  liberty.  Franklin  called  it  Mungo. 

The  girl  seems  to  have  given  the  little  creature  his  will, 
and  let  him  sometimes  go  free  among  the  oaks  and  hedgerows 
of  the  fair,  green  land.  But  one  day  it  was  caught  by  a  dog 
or  cat,  or  some  other  animal,  and  killed.  His  liberty  proved 
his  ruin.  Poor  Mungo! 

There  was  sorrow  in  the  bishop's  home  over  the  loss  of  the 
pet,  and  the  poor  little  girl  sought  consolation  from  the  phi- 
losopher. 

But,  philosopher  that  he  was,  he  could  not  recall  to  life 
the  little  martyr  to  liberty.  So  he  did  about  all  that  can  be 
done  in  like  cases:  he  wrote  for  her  an  epitaph  for  her  pet,  set- 
ting forth  its  misfortunes,  and  giving  it  a  charitable  history, 
which  must  have  been  very  consoling.  He  did  not  indulge  in 
any  frivolous  rhymes,  but  used  the  stately  rhythms  that  befit 
a  very  solemn  event. 

There  is  a  perfect  picture  of  the  mother  heart  of  Franklin 
in  this  little  story.  The  world  has  ever  asked  why  this  man 
was  so  liked.  The  answer  may  be  read  here:  A  sympathy, 
guided  by  principle,  that  often  found  expression  in  humor. 

As  in  the  case  of  good  old  Sam  Adams,  the  children  followed 


DR.   FRANKLIN'S  ENGLISH  FABLE.  229 

him.  Blessed  are  those  whom  mothers  and  children  love.  It 
is  the  heart  that  has  power.  A  touch  of  sympathy  outlives 
tales  of  achievements  of  power,  as  in  the  story  of  Ulysses's  dog. 
It  is  he  who  sympathizes  the  most  with  mankind  that  longest 
lives  in  human  affections. 

A  man's  character  may  be  known  by  the  poet  that  the  man 
seeks  as  his  interpreter.  Franklin's  favorite  poet  as  he  grew 
old  was  Cowper.  In  all  his  duties  of  life  he  never  lost  that 
heart  charm,  the  grandfather  charm;  it  was  active  now  when 
children  still  made  his  old  age  happy. 

How  queerly  he  must  have  looked  in  England  with  his  cage 
of  little  squirrels  and  the  children  following  him  in  some  good 
bishop's  garden! 


16 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

OLD    MR.    CALAMITY    AGAIN. 

FRANKLIN'S  paper,  the  Pennsylvania  Gazette,  which  ap- 
peared in  the  year  1729,  at  first  published  by  Franklin  and 
Meredith,  and  always  very  neatly  printed,  had  grown,  and  its 
income  became  large.  It  did  much  of  the  thinking  for  the 
province.  But  Franklin  made  it  what  it  was  by  his  energy, 
perseverance,  and  faith.  He  returned  to  America,  and  the 
paper  voiced  his  opinions. 

In  the  period  of  his  early  struggle,  he  was  wheeling  some 
printing  paper  in  a  wheelbarrow  along  the  streets  toward  his 
office  when  he  heard  the  tap,  tap,  tap  of  an  old  man's  cane. 

He  looked  around.  It  was  the  cane  of  old  Mr.  Calamity. 
This  man  had  advised  him  not  to  begin  publishing. 

"  Young  man — 

"  Good  morning,  sir.     I  hope  it  finds  you  well." 

"  It  must  be  hard  times  when  an  editor  has  to  carry  his 
printing  paper  in  a  wheelbarrow." 

"  The  oracle  said,  '  Leave  no  stone  unturned  if  you  would 
find  success.' '; 

"  Well,  my  young  friend,  if  there  is  anybody  that  obeys  the 
oracle  in  Pennsylvania  it  is  you.  You  dress  plainly;  you  do 

230 


OLD  MR.   CALAMITY  AGAIN.  231 

not  indulge  in  many  luxuries;  you  attend  the  societies  and  clubs 
that  seek  information;  you  ought  to  succeed,  but  you  won't." 
The  old  man  lifted  his  cane  and  brought  it  down  on  the 
flagging  stones  with  a  pump. 
"You  won't,  now!" 

He  stood  still  for  a  moment  to  add  to  the  impression  of  his 
words. 

"  What  is  this  I  hear?  The  province  is  about  to  issue  pa- 
per money?  What  did  I  tell  you  long  ago?  This  is  an  age  of 
rags.  Paper  money  is  rags.  Governor  Keith's  affairs  have 
all  gone  to  ruin;  it  is  unfortunate  that  he  went  away.  And 
you  are  going  to  print  the  paper  money  for  the  province,  are 
you?  Listen  to  me:  in  a  few  years  it  will  not  be  worth  the 
paper  it  is  printed  on,  and  you  will  be  glad  to  follow  the  ex- 
ample of  Governor  Keith,  and  get  out  of  Philadelphia.  The 
times  are  hard,  but  they  are  going  to  be  harder.  What  hope 
is  there  for  such  a  man  as  you?  " 

Franklin  set  down  his  wheelbarrow. 

"  My  good  sir,  I  am  doing  honest  work.  It  will  tell— I  have 
confidence  that  it  will  tell." 

"Tell!     Tell  who?" 

"  The  world." 

"  The  world!  The  owls  have  not  yet  ceased  to  hoot  in 
woods  around  Philadelphia,  and  he  has  a  small  world  that  is 
bounded  by  the  hoot  of  an  owl." 

"  My  father  used  to  say  that  he  who  is  diligent  in  his  busi- 
ness shall  stand  before  kings,"  quoting  the  Scripture. 

"  Well,  you  may  be  as  honest  and  as  diligent  in  your  busi- 
ness as  you  will,  it  is  a  small  chance  that  you  will  ever  have 


232  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

of  standing  before  kings.  What  are  you  standing  before  now? — 
a  wheelbarrow.  That  is  as  far  as  you  have  got.  A  promising 
young  man  it  must  be  to  stand  before  a  wheelbarrow  and  talk 
about  standing  before  kings!  " 

"  But,  sir,  I  ought  not  to  be  standing  before  a  wheelbarrow. 
I  ought  to  be  going  on  and  coining  time." 

"  Well,  go  right  along;  you  are  on  the  way  to  Poverty  Cor- 
ner, and  you  will  not  need  any  guide  post  to  find  it;  take  up 
the  handles  of  the  wheelbarrow  and  go  right  on.  Maybe  the 
king  will  send  a  coach  for  you  some  day." 

He  did — more  than  one  king  did. 

Franklin  took  the  handles  of  the  wheelbarrow,  wondering 
which  was  the  true  prophet,  his  father's  Scripture  or  cautious 
old  Mr.  Calamity.  As  he  went  on  he  heard  the  tap,  tap,  tap 
of  the  cane  behind  him,  and  a  low  laugh  at  times  and  the  word 
"  kings." 

He  came  to  the  office,  and  taking  a  huge  bundle  of  printing 
paper  on  his  shoulder  went  in.  The  cane  passed,  tap,  tap,  tap- 
ping. It  had  an  ominous  sound.  But  after  the  tap,  tap,  tap 
of  the  cane  had  gone,  Franklin  could  still  hear  his  old  father's 
words  in  his  spiritual  memory,  and  he  believed  that  they  were 
true. 

We  must  continue  the  story  of  Mr.  Calamity,  so  as  to  pic- 
ture events  from  a  Tory  point  of  view.  The  incident  of  the 
wheelbarrow  would  long  cause  him  to  reproach  the  name  of 
Franklin. 

The  Pennsylvania  Gazette  not  only  grew  and  became  a 
source  of  large  revenue,  so  that  Franklin  had  no  more  need 
to  wheel  to  his  office  printing  paper  with  his  own  hands,  but 


OLD  ME.  CALAMITY  AGAIN.  233 

it  crowned  with  honor  the  work  of  which  he  was  never  ashamed. 
The  printing  of  the  paper  money  of  the  province  added  to  his 
name,  the  success  that  multiplies  success  hegan  its  rounds  with 
the  years,  and  middle  life  found  him  a  rich  man,  and  his  late 
return  from  England  a  man  with  the  lever  of  power  that  molds 
opinion. 

Poor  old  Mr.  Calamity  must  have  viewed  this  growth  and 
prosperity  with  eyes  askance.  His  cane  tapped  more  rapidly 
yearly  as  it  passed  the  great  newspaper  office,  notwithstanding 
that  it  bore  more  and  more  the  weight  of  years. 

Benjamin  Franklin  was  a  magnanimous  man.  He  never 
wasted  time  in  seeking  the  injury  of  any  who  ridiculed  and  be- 
littled him.  He  had  the  largest  charity  for  the  mistakes  in 
judgment  that  men  make,  and  the  opportunities  of  life  were 
too  precious  for  him  to  waste  any  time  in  beating  the  air  where 
nothing  was  to  be  gained.  Help  the  man  who  some  time  sought 
to  injure  you,  and  the  day  may  come  when  he  will  help  you, 
and  such  Peter-like  experiences  are  among  life's  richest  har- 
vests. The  true  friendship  gained  by  forgiveness  has  a  breadth 
and  depth  of  life  that  bring  one  of  the  highest  joys  of  heaven 
to  the  soul. 

"I  will  study  many  things,  for  I  must  be  proficient 'in 
something,"  said  the  poet  Longfellow  when  young.  Franklin 
studied  everything— languages,  literature,  science,  and  art. 
His  middle  life  was  filled  with  studies;  all  life  to  him  was  a 
schoolroom.  His  studies  in  middle  life  bore  fruit  after  he  was 
threescore  and  ten  years  of  age.  They  helped  to  make  his  pa- 
per powerful. 

Franklin's  success  greatly  troubled  poor  old  Mr.  Calamity. 


234  TEUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

After  the  printer  made  the  great  discovery  that  electricity  was 
lightning,  the  old  man  opposed  the  use  of  lightning-rods. 

"What  will  that  man  Franklin  do  next?"  he  said.  "He 
would  oppose  the  Lord  of  the  heavens  from  thundering  and 
lightning — he  would  defy  Providence  and  Omnipotent  Power. 
Why,  the  next  thing  he  may  deny  the  authority  of  King  George 
himself,  who  is  divinely  appointed.  He  is  a  dangerous  man,  the 
most  dangerous  man  in  all  the  colony." 

Old  Mr.  Calamity  warned  the  people  against  the  innova- 
tions of  this  dangerous  man. 

One  day,  as  he  was  resting  under  the  great  trees  on  the 
Schuylkill,  there  was  brought  to  him  grievous  news.  A  clerk 
in  the  Pennsylvania  Assembly  came  up  to  him  and  asked: 

"Do  you  know  what  has  been  done?  The  Assembly  has 
appointed  Franklin  as  agent  to  London;  he  is  to  go  as  the  agent 
of  all  the  colonies." 

"  Sho!  What  do  the  colonies  want  of  an  agent  in  Lon- 
don? Don't  the  king  know  how  to  govern  his  colonies? 
And  if  we  need  an  agent  abroad,  why  should  we  send  a  printer 
and  a  lightning-rod  man?  Clerk,  sit  down!  That  man  Frank- 
lin is  a  dangerous  leader.  '  An  agent  of  the  colonies  in  Lon- 
don! '  Why,  I  have  seen  him  carrying  printing  paper  in  a 
wheelbarrow.  A  curious  man  that  to  send  to  the  court  of 
England's  sovereign,  whose  arms  are  the  lion  and  the  uni- 
corn." 

"  But  there  is  a  movement  in  England  to  tax  the  colonies." 

"  And  why  shouldn't  there  be?  If  the  king  thinks  it  is  ad- 
visable to  tax  the  colonies  for  their  own  support,  why  should 
not  his  ministers  be  instructed  to  do  so?  The  king  is  a  power 


OLD  MR.  CALAMITY  AGAIN.  235 

divinely  ordained;  the  king  can  do  no  wrong.  We  ought  to 
be  willing  to  be  taxed  by  such  a  virtuous  and  gracious  sover- 
eign. Taxation  is  a  blessing;  it  makes  us  realize  our  privileges. 
Oh,  that  Franklin!  that  Franklin!  there  is  something  peculiar- 
some  about  him;  but  the  end  of  that  man  is  to  fall.  First 
carrying  about  printing  paper  in  a  wheelbarrow,  then  trifling 
with  the  lightning  in  a  thunderstorm,  and  now  going  to  the 
court  of  England  as  a  representative  of  the  colonies.  The 
world  never  saw  such  an  amazing  spectacle  as  that  in  all  its  his- 
tory. Do  you  know  what  the  king  may  yet  be  compelled  to  do? 
He  may  yet  have  to  punish  his  American  colonies.  Clouds  are 
gathering — I  can  see.  Well,  let  Franklin  go,  and  take  his 
wheelbarrow  with  him!  What  times  these  are! " 

Franklin  was  sent  to  England  again  greatly  to  the  discom- 
fort of  Mr.  Calamity. 

The  English  Parliament  passed  an  act  called  the  Stamp 
Act,  taxing  the  colonies  by  placing  a  stamp  on  all  paper  to  be 
used  in  legal  transactions.  It  was  passed  against  the  consent 
of  the  colonies,  who  were  allowed  to  have  no  representatives 
in  the  foreign  government,  and  the  measure  filled  the  colonies 
with  indignation.  There  were  not  many  in  America  like  Mr. 
Calamity  who  believed  the  doctrine  that  the  king  could  do 
no  wrong.  King  George  III  approved  of  the  Stamp  Act,  not 
only  as  a  means  of  revenue,  but  as  an  assertion  of  royal  au- 
thority. 

The  colonies  were  opposed  to  the  use  of  the  stamped  paper. 
Were  they  to  submit  to  be  governed  by  the  will  of  a  foreign 
power  without  any  voice  in  the  measures  of  the  government 
imposed  upon  them?  Were  their  lives  and  property  at  the 


236  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

command  of  a  despotism,  without  any  source  of  appeal  to  jus- 
tice? 

The  indignation  grew.  The  spirit  of  resistance  to  the 
arbitrary  act  of  tyranny  was  everywhere  to  be  met  and 
seen. 

From  the  time  of  his  arrival  in  London,  in  1764,  at  the  age 
of  fifty-nine,  Franklin  gave  all  his  energies  for  a  long  time 
to  opposing  the  Stamp  Act,  and,  after  it  had  passed,  to  secur- 
ing its  repeal.  He  was,  as  it  were,  America  in  London. 

The  Stamp  Act,  largely  through  his  influence,  was  at  last 
repealed,  and  joy  filled  America.  Processions  were  formed  in 
honor  of  the  king,  and  bonfires  blazed  on  the  hills.  In  Boston 
the  debtors  were  set  free  from  jail,  that  all  might  unite  in  the 
jubilee. 

Franklin's  name  filled  the  air. 

Old  Mr.  Calamity  heard  of  it  amid  the  ringing  of  bells. 

"  Franklin,  Franklin,"  he  said  on  the  occasion,  turning 
around  in  vexation  and  taking  a  pinch  of  snuff,  "  why,  I  have 
seen  him  carrying  printing  paper  in  a  wheelbarrow! " 

Philadelphia  had  a  day  of  jubilee  in  honor  of  the  repeal 
of  the  Stamp  Act,  and  Mr.  Calamity  with  cane  and  snuffbox 
wandered  out  to  see  the  sights.  The  streets  were  in  holiday 
attire,  bells  were  ringing,  and  here  and  there  a  shout  for  Frank- 
lin went  up  from  an  exulting  crowd.  As  often  as  the  prudent 
old  gentleman  heard  that  name  he  turned  around,  pounding 
his  cane  and  taking  a  pinch  of  snuff. 

He  went  down  to  a  favorite  grove  on  the  banks  of  the 
Schuylkill.  He  found  it  spread  with  tables  and  hung  with 
banners. 


OLD  MR.   CALAMITY  AGAIN.  237 

"  Sir,"  he  said  to  a  local  officer,  "  is  there  to  be  a  banquet 
here?" 

"  Yes,  your  Honor,  the  banquet  is  to  be  here.  Have  you 
not  heard?" 

"  What  is  the  banquet  to  be  for?  " 

"  In  honor  of  Franklin,  sir." 

Mr.  Calamity  turned  round  on  his  cane  and  took  out  his 
snuffbox. 

There  was  an  outburst  of  music,  a  great  shout,  and  a  hur- 
rying of  people  toward  the  green  grove. 

Something  loomed  in  air. 

The  old  gentleman,  putting  his  hand  over  his  eye  as  a  shade, 
looked  up  in  great  surprise. 

"What— what  is  that?" 

What  indeed! 

"  A  boat  sailing  in  the  air?  "  He  added,  "  Franklin  must 
have  invented  that! " 

"  No,"  said  the  official,  "  that  is  the  great  barge." 

"  What  is  it  for?  " 

"  It  will  exhibit  itself  shortly,"  said  the  official. 

It  came  on,  covered  with  banners  that  waved  in  the  river 
winds. 

The  old  man  read  the  inscription  upon  it — "  Franklin." 

"  I  told  you  so,"  he  said. 

"  It  will  thunder  soon,"  said  the  official.  "  Don't  you  see 
it  is  armed  with  guns?  " 

The  barge  stopped  at  the  entrance  of  the  grove.  A  dis- 
charge of  cannon  followed  from  the  boat,  which  was  forty 
feet  long.  A  great  shout  followed  the  salute.  The  whole 


238  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

city  seemed  cheering.  The  name  that  filled  the  air  was 
"Franklin." 

Mr.  Calamity  turned  around  and  around,  planting  his  cane 
down  in  a  manner  that  left  a  circle,  and  then  taking  out  of  his 
pocket  his  snuffbox. 

He  saw  a  boy  cheering. 

"Boy!" 

"  Sir?  " 

"  What  are  you  shouting  for?  " 

"  For  the  Stamp  Act,  sir!  " 

"  That  is  right,  my  boy." 

"  No,  for  Franklin!  " 

"For  Franklin?  Why,  I  have  seen  him  carrying  a  lot  of 
printing  paper  through  the  streets  in  a  wheelbarrow!  May 
time  be  gracious  to  me,  so  that  I  may  see  him  hanged!  Boy, 
see  here " 

But  the  banners  were  moving  into  the  green  grove,  and  the 
boy  had  gone  after  them. 

Benjamin  Franklin  returned  to  Philadelphia  the  most  popu- 
lar man  in  the  colonies,  and  was  elected  a  delegate  to  the  Con- 
tinental Congress. 

"  Only  Heaven  can  save  us  now,"  said  troubled  Mr.  Calam- 
ity. "  There's  treason  in  the  air! " 

The  old  gentleman  was  not  a  bad  man;  he  saw  life  on  the 
side  of  shadow,  and  had  become  blind  to  the  sunny  side  of  life. 
He  was  one  of  those  natures  that  are  never  able  to  come  out  of 
the  past. 

The  people  amid  the  rising  prosperity  ceased  to  believe  in 
old  Mr.  Calamity  as  a  prophet.  He  felt  this  loss  of  faith  in 


OLD  MR.  CALAMITY  AGAIN.  239 

him.  He  assumed  the  character  of  the  silent  wise  man  at 
times.  He  would  pass  people  whom  he  had  warned  of  the 
coming  doom,  shaking  his  head,  and  then  turning  around  would 
strike  his  cane  heavily  on  the  pavement,  which  would  cause  the 
one  he  had  left  behind  to  look  back.  He  would  then  lift  his 
cane  as  though  it  were  the  rod  of  a  magician. 

"  Old  Mr.  Calamity  is  coming,"  said  a  Philadelphia  school- 
boy to  another,  one  new  school  day  in  autumn.  "  See,  he 
is  watching  Franklin,  and  is  trying  to  avoid  meeting  him." 

Their  teacher  came  along  the  street. 

"Why,  boys,  are  you  watching  the  old  gentleman?" 

"  He  is  trying  to  avoid  meeting  Mr.  Franklin,  sir." 

"  Calamity  comes  to  avoid  Industry,"  said  the  teacher,  as  he 
saw  the  two  men.  Franklin  was  the  picture  of  thrift,  and  his 
very  gait  was  full  of  purpose  and  energy.  I  speak  in  parable," 
said  the  teacher,  "  but  that  old  gentleman  is  always  in  a  state 
of  alarm,  and  he  seems  to  find  satisfaction  in  predicting  evil, 
and  especially  of  Mr.  Franklin.  The  time  was  when  the  young 
printer  avoided  him — he  was  startled,  I  fancy,  whenever  he 
heard  the  cane  on  the  pavement;  he  must  have  felt  the  force 
of  the  suggestion  that  Calamity  was  after  him.  Now  he  has 
become  prosperous,  and  the  condition  is  changed.  Calamity 
flees^rom  him.  See,  my  boys,  the  two  men." 

They  stopped  on  the  street. 

Mr.  Calamity  passed  them  on  the  opposite  side,  and  Mr. 
Franklin  came  after  him,  walking  briskly.  The  latter  stopped 
at  the  door  of  his  office,  but  the  old  gentleman  hurried  on. 
When  he  reached  the  corner  of  the  street  he  planted  his  cane 
down  on  the  pavement  and  looked  around.  He  saw  the  popu- 


240  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

lar  printer  standing  before  his  office  door  on  the  street.  The 
two  looked  at  each  other.  The  old  man  evidently  felt  uncom- 
fortable. He  turned  the  corner,  out  of  sight,  when  an  extraor- 
dinary movement  appeared. 

Mr.  Calamity  reached  back  his  long,  ruffled  arm,  and  his 
cane,  in  view  of  the  philosopher,  the  teacher,  and  the  boys, 
and  shook  the  cane  mysteriously  as  though  he  were  writing  in 
the  air.  He  may  have  had  in  mind  some  figure  of  the  ancient 
prophets.  Up  and  down  went  the  cane,  around  and  around, 
with  curves  of  awful  import.  It  looked  to  those  on  the  street 
he  had  left  as  though  the  sharp  angle  of  the  house  on  the  cor- 
ner had  suddenly  struck  out  a  living  arm  in  silent  warning. 

The  arm  and  cane  disappeared.  A  head  in  a  wide-rimmed 
hat  looked  around  the  angle  as  if  to  see  the  effect  of  the  writ- 
ing in  the  air.  Then  the  arm  and  cane  appeared  again  as 
before.  It  was  like  the  last  remnant  of  a  cloud  when  the  body 
has  passed. 

The  teacher  saw  the  meaning  of  the  movement. 

"  Boys,"  said  he,  "  if  jrou  should  ever  be  pursued  by  Mr. 
Calamity  in  any  form,  remember  the  arm  and  cane.  See 
Franklin  laugh!  Industry  in  the  end  laughs  at  Calamity,  and 
Diligence  makes  the  men  who  '  stand  before  kings.'  It  is  the 
law  of  life.  Detraction  is  powerless  before  will  and  worlf,  and 
as  a  rule  whatever  any  one  dreams  that  he  may  do,  he  will  do." 

The  boys  had  received  an  object  lesson,  and  would  long 
carry  in  their  minds  the  picture  of  the  mysterious  arm  and  cane. 

In  a  right  intention  one  is  master  of  the  ideal  of  life.  If 
circumstances  favor,  he  becomes  conscious  that  life  is  no  longer 
master  of  him,  but  that  he  is  the  master  of  life.  This  sense  of 


OLD  MR.   CALAMITY  AGAIN. 

power  and  freedom  is  noble;  in  vain  does  the  shadow  of 
Calamity  intmde  upon  it;  the  visions  of  youth  become  a  part 
of  creations  of  the  world;  the  dream  of  the  architect  is  a  man- 
sion now;  of  the  scientist,  a  road,  a  railway  over  rivers  and 
mountains;  of  the  orator  and  poet,  thoughts  that  live.  Even 
the  young  gardner  finds  his  dreams  projected  into  his  farm.  So 
ideals  become  realities,  and  thoughts  become  seeds  that  multi- 
ply. Mr.  Calamity  may  shake  his  cane,  but  it  will  be  behind  a 
corner.  Happy  is  he  who  makes  facts  of  his  thoughts  that  were 
true  to  life! 


CHAPTEE  XXXIV. 

OLD   MR.    CALAMITY   AND   THE    TEARING   DOWN    OF   THE    KING'S 

ARMS. 

OUR  gentlemanly  friend  Mr.  Calamity  was  now  very,  very 
old,  long  past  the  milestone  of  eighty.  As  Philadelphia 
grew,  the  streets  lengthening,  the  fine  houses  rising  higher 
and  higher,  he  began  to  doubt  that  he  was  a  prophet,  and 
he  shunned  Benjamin  Franklin  when  the  latter  was  in  the 
country. 

One  day,  long  before  the  Stamp  Act,  he  passed  the  Gazette 
office,  when  the  prosperous  editor  appeared. 

"  It's  coming,"  said  he,  tap,  tapping  on.  "  What  did  I  tell 
you?" 

"What  is  coming?"  asked  our  vigorous  king  of  prosperity. 

'•'  War!  "  He  became  greatly  excited.  "  Indians!  they're 
coming  with  the  tommyhawk  and  scalping  knife,  and  we'll  need 
to  be  thankful  if  they  leave  us  our  heads." 

There  were  indeed  Indian  troubles  and  dire  events  at  that 
time,  but  not  near  Philadelphia. 

Time  passed.  He  was  a  Tory,  and  he  heard  of  Concord  and 
Lexington,  and  he  ceased  to  read  the  paper  that  Franklin 
printed,  and  his  cane  flew  scatteringly  as  it  passed  the  office 
door.  To  him  that  door  was  treason. 

242 


THE  TEARING  DOWN  OP  THE  KING'S  ARMS.       243 
One  evening  he  lifted  his  cane  as  he  was  passing 
'The  king  will  take  the  puny  colonies  in  his  mighty  arms 
and  dash  them  against  the  high  rock  of  the  sea.     He  will 
dash  them  in  pieces  Mike  a  potter's  vessel/    What  are  we  to 
the  throne  of  England! " 

He  heard  of  Bunker  Hill,  and  his  old  heart  beat  free 
again. 

"  What  did  I  tell  you?  »  he  said.  «  King  George  took  the 
rebels  m  his  arms  and  beat  them  against  Bunker  Hill.  He'll 
plant  his  mighty  heel  on  Philadelphia,  some  day,  and  may  it 
fall  on  the  head  of  Benjamin  Franklin,  for  of  all  rebels  he  is 
the  most  dangerous.  Oh,  that  Franklin!  He  is  now  advo- 
cating the  independence  of  the  colonies!  " 

The  Provincial  Congress  began  to  assemble,  and  cavalcades 
went  out  to  meet  the  members  as  they  approached  the  city  on 
horseback.  The  Virginia  delegation  were  so  escorted  into  the 
city  with  triumph.  The  delegates  were  now  assembling  to  de- 
clare the  colony  free.  Independence  was  in  the  air. 

Terrible  days  were  these  to  Mr.  Calamity.  As  often  as  he 
heard  the  word  "  independence  "  on  the  street  his  cane  would  fly 
up,  and  after  this  spasm  his  snuffbox  would  come  out  of  his 
pocket  for  refreshment.  His  snuffbox  was  silver,  and  on  it 
in  gold  were  the  king's  arms. 

He  was  a  generous  man  despite  his  fears.  He  was  particu- 
larly generous  with  his  snuff.  He  liked  to  pass  it  around  on 
the  street,  for  he  thereby  displayed  the  king's  arms  on  his  snuff- 
box. 

When  the  Massachusetts  delegates  came,  the  city  was  filled 
with  joy.  But  Samuel  Adams  was  the  soul  of  the  movement 


244  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

for  independence,  and  after  his  arrival  independence  was 
more  and  more  discussed,  which  kept  poor  old  Mr.  Calamity's 
cane  continually  flying.  But  his  feelings  were  terribly  wounded 
daily  by  another  event  of  common  occurrence.  As  he  passed 
the  snuffbox  to  the  Continentals  he  met,  and  showed  the  royal 
arms  upon  it,  they  turned  away  from  him;  they  would  not  take 
snuff  from  the  royal  snuffbox.  These  were  ominous  times 
indeed. 

The  province  of  Pennsylvania  had  decreed  that  no  one 
should  hold  any  office  derived  from  the  authority  of  the  king. 
For  a  considerable  period  there  was  no  government  in  Pennsyl- 
vania, no  authority  to  punish  a  crime  or  collect  a  debt,  but  all 
things  went  on  orderly,  peacefully,  and  well. 

Old  Mr.  Calamity  used  to  sit  under  the  great  elm  tree  at 
Shakamaxon  in  the  long  summer  days  and  extend  his  silver 
snuffbox  to  people  as  they  passed.  The  tree  was  full  of  sing- 
ing birds;  flowers  bloomed  by  the  way,  and  the  river  was 
bright;  but  to  him  the  glory  of  the  world  had  fled,  for  the 
people  no  longer  would  take  snuff  from  the  box  with  the  royal 
arms. 

One  day  a  lady  passed  who  belonged  to  the  days  of  the 
Penns  and  the  Proprietors. 

"  Madam  Bond,"  said  he,  "  comfort  me." 

A  patriot  passed.  The  old  man  held  out  the  snuffbox. 
The  man  hesitated  and  started  back. 

"  The  royal  arms  will  have  to  go,"  said  the  patriot. 

"Where  from?"  said  the  old  man  excited. 

"  From  everywhere.     "We  are  about  to  decree  a  new  world." 

"  They  will  never  take  these  golden  arms  from  that  snuff- 


THE  TEARING  DOWN  OP  THE  KING'S  ARMS.        245 

box.  Sir,  do  you  know  that  box  was  given  to  the  Proprietor 
by  Queen  Charlotte  herself?" 

"  Well,  the  golden  arms  will  have  to  come  off  it;  they  will 
have  to  come  down  everywhere.  No — I  thank  you,"  he  con- 
tinued. "  I  can  not  ever  take  snuff  again  out  of  a  snuffbox 
like  that." 

Poor  old  Mr.  Calamity  turned  to  the  lady. 

"  What  am  I  to  do?  Where  am  I  to  go?  You  do  pity  me, 
don't  you?" 

A  little  girl  passed  near.  He  held  out  the  box.  The  girl 
ran.  The  poor  old  man  began  to  tremble. 

"  I  have  trembling  fits  sometimes,"  said  he.  "  Take  a  pinch 
of  snuff  with  me;  it  will  steady  me.  Take  a  pinch  of  snuff  for 
Queen  Charlotte's  sake." 

He  shook  like  the  leaves  of  the  elm  tree  in  the  summer 
wind. 

Dame  Bond  hesitated. 

He  trembled  more  violently.  "  Do  you  hesitate  to  honor 
the  name  of  Queen  Charlotte?  "  he  said. 

The  woman  took  a  pinch  of  snuff  in  memory  of  the  days 
gone.  He  grew  calmer. 

"  That  strengthens  me,"  he  said.  "  What  am  I  to  do?  The 
things  that  I  see  daily  tear  me  all  to  pieces.  It  broke  my  heart 
to  see  that  child  run  away.  I  can  not  cross  the  sea,  and  if  they 
were  to  tear  down  the  king's  arms  from  the  State  House  I 
would  die.  I  would  tremble  until  I  grew  cold  and  my  breath 
left  me.  You  do  pity  me,  don't  you?  I  sometimes  grow  cold 
now  when  I  tremble." 

It  was  June.     A  bugle  rang  out  in  the  street. 
17 


246  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

"  "What  is  that  ?  "  he  asked  of  a  volunteer  who  passed  by. 

"  It  is  the  summons." 

"For  what?" 

"  For  the  assembling  of  the  people." 

"In  God's  name,  for  what?  Is  a  royal  messenger  com- 
ing?" 

"  No.  They  are  going  to  tear  down  the  king's  arms  from 
all  the  buildings  at  six,  and  are  going  to  pile  them  up  on  tar 
barrels  and  make  a  bonfire  of  them  when  the  sun  goes  down. 
The  flame  will  ascend  to  heaven.  That  will  be  the  end  of  the 
reign  of  King  George  III  in  this  province  forever! " 

The  old  man  trembled  again. 

"  I  am  cold,"  he  said. — "  Dame  Bond,  take  another  pinch 
of  snuff  out  of  the  silver  box  with  the  golden  arms — it  helps 
me." 

Dame  Bond  once  more  paid  her  respects  to  Queen  Char- 
lotte. 

"  Before  God,  you  do  not  tell  me,  sir,  that  they  are  going 
to  take  down  the  king's  arms  from  the  State  House?  " 

"  The  king's  arms  are  to  be  torn  down  from  all  the  build- 
ings, my  aged  friend;  from  the  inns,  the  shops,  the  houses,  the 
State  House,  and  all." 

"  Dame  Bond,  my  limbs  fail.  I  shall  never  go  home  again. 
Tell  the  family  as  you  pass  that  I  shall  not  return  to  tea  with 
them.  Let  me  pass  the  evening  here,  where  Penn  made  his 
treaty  with  the  Indians.  To-night  is  the  last  of  Pennsylvania. 
I  never  wish  to  see  another  morning." 

At  seven  o'clock  in  the  long,  fiery  day  the  great  bell 
rang.  The  bugle  sounded  again.  People  ran  hither  and 


THE    DESTRUCTION   OF    THE    ROYAL    ARMS. 


THE  TEARING  DOWN   OF  THE  KING'S  ARMS.        247 

thither.  A  rocket  flared  across  the  sky,  and  a  great  cry 
went  up: 

"  Down,  with  the  arms!  " 

A  procession  headed  with  soldiers  passed  through  the  streets 
of  the  city  bearing  with  them  a  glittering  sign.  Military  mu- 
sic filled  the  air. 

The  old  man's  daughter  Mercy  came  to  see  him  under  the 
tree  and  to  persuade  him  to  go  home  with  her. 

"Mercy — daughter — what  are  they  carrying  away?" 

"  The  king's  arms  from  the  State  House;  that  is  all, 
father." 

"All!  all!     Say  you  rather -that  it  is  the  world!" 

The  roseate  light  faded  from  the  high  hills  and  the  waters. 
The  sea  birds  screamed,  and  cool  breezes  made  the  multitudi- 
nous leaves  of  the  tree  to  quiver. 

"Mercy — daughter — and  what  was  that?" 

"  They  are  lighting  a  bonfire,  father." 

"  What  for?  " 

"  To  burn  the  king's  arms." 

"  What  will  we  do  without  a  king?  " 

"  They  will  have  a  Congress." 

A  great  shout  went  up  on  a  near  hill. 

"  But,  Mercy — daughter — a  Congress  is  men.  A  Congress 
is  not  a  power  ordained.  Oh,  that  I  should  ever  live  to  see  a 
day  like  this!  'Twas  Franklin  did  it.  I  can  see  it  all — it  was 
he;  it  was  the  printer  boy  from  Boston." 

Darkness  fell.  It  was  nine  o'clock  now.  There  was  a  dis- 
charge of  firearms,  and  a  great  flame  mounted  up  from  the  pile 
on  the  hill,  and  put  out  the  stars  and  filled  the  heavens. 


248  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

"  Father,  let  us  go  home." 

"  No,  let  me  stay  here  under  the  tree." 

"Why,  father?" 

"  The  palsy  is  coming  upon  me — I  can  feel  it  coining,  and 
here  I  would  die." 

"  Oh,  father,  return  with  me,  for  my  sake!  " 

"  Well,  help  me,  then." 

She  lifted  him,  and  they  went  back  slowly  to  the  street. 

The  city  was  deserted.  The  people  were  out  to  the  hill. 
There  was  a  crackling  of  dry  boards  in  the  bonfire,  and  the 
flame  grew  redder  and  redder,  higher  and  higher. 

They  came  to  the  State  House.  The  old  man  looked  up. 
The  face  of  the  house  was  bare;  the  king's  arms  were  gone. 

He  sank  down  on  the  step  of  an  empty  house  and  began 
to  tremble.  He  took  out  his  silver  snuffbox  and  held  it 
shaking. 

"  For  Queen  Charlotte's  sake,  daughter,"  he  said. 

She  touched  the  box,  to  please  him. 

"  Gone,"  he  said;  "  the  king's  arms  are  gone,  and  I  have  no 
wish  to  survive  them.  I  feel  the  chill  coming  on — 'tis  the  last 
time.  Take  the  silver  box,  daughter  ;  for  my  sake  hide  it,  and 
always  be  true  to  the  king's  arms  upon  it.  As  for  me,  I  shall 
never  see  the  morning!  " 

He  lay  there  in  the  moonlight,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  State 
House  where  the  king's  arms  had  been. 

The  people  came  shouting  back,  bearing  torches  that  were 
going  out.  Houses  were  being  illuminated. 

He  ceased  to  tremble.  They  sent  for  a  medical  man  and 
for  his  near  kin.  These  people  were  among  the  multitude. 


THE  TEARING  DOWN  OF  THE  KING'S  ARMS.        249 

They  came  late  and  found  him  lying  in  the  moonlight  white 
and  cold. 

The  bells  are  ringing.  Independence  is  declared.  The 
king's  rule  in  the  province  is  gone  forever.  Benjamin  Frank- 
lin's name  commands  the  respect  of  lovers  of  liberty  through- 
out the  world.  He  is  fulfilling  the  vision  of  Uncle  Benjamin, 
the  poet.  He  has  added  virtue  to  virtue,  intelligence  to  intelli- 
gence, benevolence  to  benevolence,  faith  to  faith.  So  the 
ladder  of  success  ascends.  Like  his  great-uncle  Tom,  his  influ- 
ence has  caused  the  bells  to  ring;  it  will  do  so  again. 

Franklin  heard  of  his  great  popularity  in  America  while 
in  England. 

"  Now  I  will  call  for  the  pamphlets,"  he  said.  He  again 
walked  alone  in  his  room.  He  faced  the  future.  "Not  yet, 
not  yet,"  he  added,  referring  to  the  pamphlets.  "  The  strug- 
gle for  liberty  has  only  begun.  I  will  order  the  pamphlets 
when  the  colonies  are  free.  The  hopes  in  them  will  then  be 
fulfilled,  and  not  until  then." 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

JENNY   AGAIN. 

FRAXKLIX  was  suddenly  recalled  to  America. 

He  stood  at  Samuel  Franklin's  door. 

Samuel  Franklin  was  an  old  man  now. 

"  I  have  come  to  Boston  once  more,"  said  Benjamin  Frank- 
lin. "  I  would  go  to  my  parents'  graves  and  the  grave  of 
Uncle  Ben.  But  they  are  in  the  enemy's  camp  now.  Samuel, 
I  found  your  father's  pamphlets  in  London." 

"  Is  it  possible?     Where  are  they  now?  " 

"  I  will  return  them  to  you  when  the  colonies  shall  be  free. 
The  reading  of  them  shall  be  a  holiday  in  our  old  lives." 

"  I  may  never  live  to  see  that  day.  Benjamin,  I  am  an  old 
man.  I  want  that  you  should  will  those  pamphlets  to  my 
family." 

The  old  men  went  out  and  stood  by  the  gate  late  in  the 
evening.  The  moon  was  rising  over  the  harbor;  it  was  a 
warm,  still  night.  Sentries  were  pacing  to  and  fro,  for  Boston 
was  surrounded  by  sixteen  thousand  hostile  men  in  arms. 

The  nine  o'clock  bell  rang. 

"  I  must  go  back  to  the  camp,"  said  Franklin,  for  he  had 
met  Samuel  within  the  American  lines. 

250 


JENNY  AGAIN.  251 

"  Cousin  Benjamin,  these  are  perilous  times,"  said  Samuel. 
"  Justice  is  what  the  world  needs.  Make  those  pamphlets  live, 
and  return  them  with  father's  name  honored  in  yours  to  my 
family." 

"  I  will  do  so  or  perish.     I  am  in  dead  earnest." 

He  ascended  the  hill  and  looked  down  on  the  British  camps 
in  Boston  town. 

Franklin  had  been  sent  to  Cambridge  as  a  commissioner 
to  Washington's  army  at  this  time.  It  was  October,  1775. 

He  longed  to  see  his  sister  Jane — "Jenny" — once  more. 
His  sister  was  now  past  sixty  years  of  age.  Foreseeing  the 
siege  of  Boston,  he  had  written  to  her  to  come  to  Philadelphia 
and  to  make  her  home  with  him.  But  she  was  unwilling  to 
remove  from  her  own  city  and  old  home,  though  she  was  forced 
to  find  shelter  within  the  lines  of  the  American  army. 

One  night,  after  her  removal  from  Boston,  there  came  a 
gentle  knock  at  the  door  of  her  room.  She  opened  it  guard- 
edly, and  looked  earnestly  into  the  face  of  the  stranger. 

"  Jenny! " 

"  My  own  brother! — do  I  indeed  see  you  alive?  Let  me 
put  jny  hand  into  yours  once  more." 

He  drew  her  to  him. 

"Jenny,  I  have  longed  for  this  hour." 

"  But  what  brings  you  here  at  this  time?  You  did  not 
come  wholly  to  see  me?  Sit  down,  and  let  us  bring  up  all  the 
past  again." 

He  sat  down  beside  her,  holding  her  hand. 

"  Jenny,  you  ask  what  brings  me  here.  Do  you  remember 
Uncle  Ben?" 


252  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

"Whose  name  you  bear?  Never  shall  I  forget  him.  The 
memory  of  a  great  man  grows  as  years  increase." 

"  Jenny,  I've  heard  the  bells  in  Ecton  ring,  and  I  found  in 
Nottinghamshire  letters  from  Uncle  Benjamin,  and  they  coup- 
led your  name  when  you  was  a  girl  with  mine  when  I  was  a 
boy;  do  you  remember  what  he  said  to  us  on  that  showery 
summer  day  when  all  the  birds  were  singing?  " 

"  Yes,  Ben — I  must  call  you  '  Ben  ' — he  said  that  '  more 
than  wealth,  more  than  fame,  more  than  anything,  was  the 
power  of  the  human  heart,  and  that  that  power  grows  by 
seeking  the  good  of  others.' '; 

"  What  he  said  was  true,  but  that  was  not  all  he  said." 

"  He  told  you  to  be  true  to  your  country — to  live  for  the 
things  that  live." 

"  Jenny,  that  is  why  I  am  here.  He  told  you  to  be  true  to 
your  home.  You  have  been  that,  Jenny.  You  took  care  of 
father  when  he  was  sick  for  the  last  time,  and  you  anticipated 
all  his  wants.  I  love  you  for  that,  Jenny." 

"  But  it  made  me  happy  to  do  it,  and  the  memory  of  it 
makes  me  happy  now." 

"  And  mother,  you  were  her  life  in  her  old  age.  They,  are 
gone,  both  gone,  but  your  heart  made  them  happy  when  their 
steps  were  retreating.  0  Jenny,  Jenny,  your  hair  is  turning 
gray,  and  mine  is  gray  already.  You  have  fulfilled  Uncle 
Benjamin's  charge  under  the  trees.  You  have  been  true  to 
your  home." 

"  I  only  wish  that  I  could  have  done  more  for  our  folks; 
and  you,  Ben — I  can  see  you  now  as  you  were  on  that  summer 
day — you  have  been  true  to  your  country." 


JENNY  AGAIN.  253 

"  Jenny,  do  you  remember  the  old  writing-school  master, 
George  Brownell?  You  do?  Well,  I  have  a  great  secret 
for  you.  I  used  to  tell  my  affairs  to  you  many  years  ago.  I 
am  in  favor  of  the  independence  of  the  colonies;  and  when 
Congress  shall  so  declare,  I  shall  put  my  name,  that  the  old 
schoolmaster  taught  me  to  write,  to  the  Declaration." 

"  Ben,  it  may  cost  you  your  life!  " 

"  Then  I  will  leave  Uncle  Ben's  name  in  mine  to  the  mar- 
tyrs' list.  I  must  be  true  to  my  country  as  you  have  been  to 
your  family — I  must  live  for  the  things  that  live.  I  am  Uncle 
Ben's  pamphlet,  Jenny.  I  know  not  what  may  befall  me.  This 
may  be  the  last  time  that  I  shall  ever  visit  Boston  town — my 
beloved  Boston — but  I  have  found  power  with  men  by  seeking 
their  good,  and  my  prayer  is  that  I  may  one  day  meet  you  again, 
and  have  you  say  to  me  that  I  have  honored  Uncle  Ben's 
name.  I  would  rather  have  that  praise  from  you  than  from  any 
other  person  in  the  world:  '  More  than  wealth,  more  than 
fame,  more  than  anything,  is  the  power  of  the  human  heart.' " 

It  was  night.  The  camp  of  Washington  was  glimmering 
far  away.  Boston  Neck  was  barricaded.  There  was  a  ship  in 
the  mouth  of  the  Charles.  A  cannon  boomed  on  Charlestown's 
hills. 

"Jenny,  I  must  go.  When  shall  we  meet  again?  Not 
until  I  have  put  Uncle  Ben's  name  to  the  declaration  of  Amer- 
ican liberty  and  independence  is  won.  I  must  prepare  the 
minds  of  the  people  to  resolve  to  become  an  independent  nation. 
My  sister,  my  own  true  sister,  what  events  may  pass  before  we 
shall  see  each  other  again!  When  you  were  younger  I  made 
you  a  present  of  a  spinnnig- wheel;  later  I  sent  you  finery.  I 


254:  TKUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

wish  to  leave  you  now  this  watch.  The  hours  of  the  struggle 
for  human  liberty  are  at  hand.  Count  the  hours!  " 

They  parted  at  the  gate.  The  leaves  were  falling.  It  was 
the  evening  of  the  year.  He  looked  back  when  he  had  taken  a 
few  steps.  He  was  nearly  seventy  years  of  age.  Yet  his  great 
work  of  life  was  before  him — it  was  yet  to  do,  while  white- 
haired  Jenny  should  count  the  hours  on  the  clock  of  time. 

Sam  Adams  had  grasped  the  idea  that  the  appeal  to  arms 
must  end  in  the  independence  of  the  colonies.  Franklin  saw 
the  rising  star  of  the  destiny  of  the  union  of  the  colonies  to  se- 
cure justice  from  the  crown.  He  left  Boston  to  give  his  whole 
soul  to  this  great  end. 

The  next  day  they  went  out  to  Tuft's  Hill  and  looked 
down  on  the  encamped  town,  the  war  ships,  and  the  sea.  It 
was  an  Indian  summer.  The  trees  were  scarlet,  the  orchards 
were  laden  with  fruit,  and  the  fields  were  yellow  with  corn. 

Over  the  blue  sea  rose  the  Castle,  now  gone.  The  smoke 
from  many  British  camps  curled  up  in  the  still,  sunny  air. 

vThe  Providence  House  Indian  (now  at  the  farm  of  the  late 
Major  Ben  Perley  Poore)  gleamed  over  the  roofs  of  the  State 
House  and  its  viceregal  signs,  which  are  now  as  then.  Boston 
was  three  hills  then,  and  the  whole  of  the  town  did  not  appear 
as  clearly  from  the  hills  on  the  west — the  Sunset  Hills — as 
now. 

"  Jenny,  liberty  is  the  right  of  mankind,  and  the  cause  of 
liberty  is  the  cause  of  mankind,"  said  Franklin.  "  Why  should 
England  hold  provinces  in  America  to  whom  she  will  allow  no 
voice  in  her  councils,  whose  people  she  may  tax  and  condemn 
to  prisons  and  death  at  the  will  of  the  king?  I  have  told  you 


JENNY  AGAIN.  255 

my  heart.     America  has  the  right  of  freedom,  and  the  colonies 
must  be  free! " 

They  walked  along  the  cool  hill  ways,  and  he  looked  long- 
ingly back  at  the  glimmering  town. 

"  Beloved  Boston!  "  he  said.  "  So  thou  wilt  ever  be  to  me! " 
He  turned  to  his  sister:  "  I  used  to  tell  my  day  dreams  to  you — 
they  have  come  true,  in  part.  I  have  been  thinking  again.  If 
the  colonies  could  be  made  free,  and  I  were  to  be  left  a  rich 
man,  I  would  like  to  make  a  gift  to  the  schools  of  Boston, 
whose  influence  would  live  as  long  as  they  shall  last.  Sis- 
ter, I  was  too  poor  in  my  boyhood  to  answer  the  call 
of  the  school  bells.  I  would  like  to  endow  the  schools  there 
with  a  fund  for  gifts  or  medals  that  would  make  every  boy 
happy  who  prepares  himself  well  for  the  work  of  life,  be  he  rich 
or  poor.  I  would  like  also  to  establish  there  a  fund  to  help 
young  apprentices,  and  to  open  public  places  of  education  and 
enjoyment  which  would  be  free  to  all  people." 

"  You  are  Silence  Dogood  still,"  said  Mrs.  Mecom.  "  Day 
dreams  in  your  life  change  into  realities.  I  believe  that  all  you 
now  have  in  your  heart  to  do  will  be  done.  Benjamin,  these 
are  great  dreams." 

"  It  may  be  that  I  will  be  sent  abroad  again." 

"  Benjamin,  we  may  be  very  old  when  we  meet  again.  But 
the  colonies  will  be  made  free,  and  you  will  live  to  give  a  medal 
to  the  schools  of  Boston  town.  I  must  prophesy  for  you  now, 
for  Uncle  Benjamin  is  gone.  I  began  life  with  you— you  car- 
ried me  in  your  arms  and  led  me  by  the  hand.  We  used  to 
sit  by  the  east  windows  together;  may  we  some  day  sit  down  to- 
gether by  the  windows  of  the  west  and  review  the  book  of  life, 


256  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

and  close  the  covers.  We  may  then  read  in  spirit  the  pam- 
phlets of  Uncle  Ben." 

There  was  a  thunder  of  guns  at  the  Castle.  War  ships  were 
coming  into  the  harbor  from  the  bay.  Franklin  beheld  them 
with  indignation. 

"  The  people  must  not  only  have  justice,"  he  said,  "  they 
must  have  liberty." 

They  returned  by  the  Cambridge  road  under  the  bowery 
elms.  It  would  be  a  long  time  before  they  would  see  each 
other  again. 

In  such  beneficent  thoughts  of  Boston  the  Franklin  medal 
had  its  origin.  It  was  coined  out  of  his  heart,  that  echoed 
wherever  it  went  or  was  destined  to  go,  "Beloved  Boston!" 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

THE  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE. — A  MYSTERY. 

THE  fame  of  Benjamin  Franklin  now  filled  America.  On 
the  continent  of  Europe  he  was  held  to  be  the  first  citizen  of 
America.  In  France  he  was  ranked  among  the  sages  and  phi- 
losophers of  antiquity,  and  his  name  associated  with  the  greatest 
benefactors  of  the  human  race.  It  was  his  electrical  discovery 
that  gave  him  this  solid  and  universal  fame,  but  his  Poor 
Richard's  proverbs,  which  had  several  times  been  translated 
into  French,  were  greatly  quoted  on  the  continent  of  Europe, 
and  made  his  popularity  as  unique  as  it  was  general. 

The  old  Boston  schoolmaster  who  probably  taught  little  Ben 
to  flourish  with  his  pen  could  have  little  dreamed  of  the  docu- 
ments of  state  to  which  this  curious  characteristic  of  the  pen 
would  be  attached.  Four  of  these  documents  were  papers  that 
led  the  age,  and 'became  the  charters  of  human  freedom  and 
progress  and  began  a  new  order  of  government  in  the  world. 
They  were  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  the  Alliance  with 
France,  the  Treaty  of  Peace  with  England,  and  the  draft  of 
the  Constitution  of  the  United  States. 

In  his  service  as  agent  of  the  colonies  and  as  a  member  of 
the  Continental  Congress  his  mind  clearly  saw  how  valuable  to 
the  American  cause  an  alliance  with  France  and  other  Conti- 

257 


258  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

nental  powers  would  be.  While  in  Europe  as  an  agent  of  the 
colonies  he  gave  his  energy  and  experience  to  assisting  a  secret 
committee  to  negotiate  foreign  aid  in  the  war.  It  was  a  time  of 
invisible  ink,  and  Franklin  instructed  this  committee  how  to 
use  it.  He  saw  that  Europe  must  be  engaged  in  the  struggle 
to  make  the  triumph  of  liberty  in  America  complete  and  per- 
manent. 

It  was  1776.  Franklin  was  now  seventy  years  old  and  was 
in  America.  The  colonies  had  resolved  to  be  free.  A  com- 
mittee had  been  chosen  by  the  Continental  Congress  in  Phila- 
delphia to  prepare  a  draft  for  a  formal  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence, a  paper  whose  principles  were  destined  to  emancipate 
not  only  the  united  colonies  but  the  world.  The  committee 
consisted  of  Thomas  Jefferson,  Benjamin  Franklin,  John 
Adams,  Robert  R.  Livingston,  and  Roger  Sherman.  Mr.  Jef- 
ferson was  appointed  by  this  committee  to  write  the  Declara- 
tion, and  he  made  it  a  voice  of  humanity  in  the  language  of 
the  sages.  He  put  his  own  glorious  thoughts  of  liberty  into  it, 
and  he  made  these  thoughts  trumpet  tones,  and  they,  like  the 
old  Liberty  Bell,  have  never  ceased  to  ring  in  the  events  of  the 
world. 

When  Jefferson  had  written  the  inspired  document  he 
showed  it  to  Franklin  and  Adams,  and  asked  them  if  they  had 
any  suggestions  to  offer  or  changes  to  make. 

Franklin  saw  how  grandly  and  adequately  Jefferson  had 
done  the  work.  He  had  no  suggestion  of  moment  to  offer. 
But  the  composition  was  criticised  in  Congress,  which  brought 
out  Franklin's  wit,  as  the  following  story  told  by  an  eye-witness 
will  show: 


THE  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE.  259 

"When  the  Declaration  of  Independence  was  under  the 
consideration  of  Congress,  there  were  two  or  three  unlucky  ex- 
pressions in  it  which  gave  offense  to  some  members.  The 
words  '  Scotch  and  other  foreign  auxiliaries '  excited  the  ire  of 
a  gentleman  or  two  of  that  country.  Severe  strictures  on  the 
conduct  of  the  British  king  in  negativing  our  repeated  repeals 
of  the  law  which  permitted  the  importation  of  slaves  were  dis- 
approved by  some  Southern  gentlemen,  whose  reflections  were 
not  yet  matured  to  the  full  abhorrence  of  that  traffic.  Al- 
though the  offensive  expressions  were  immediately  yielded, 
these  gentlemen  continued  their  depredations  on  other  parts 
of  the  instrument.  I  was  sitting  by  Dr.  Franklin,  who  per- 
ceived that  I  was  not  insensible  to  ('  that  I  was  writhing  un- 
der,' he  says  elsewhere)  these  mutilations. 

" '  I  have  made  it  a  rule,'  said  he,  '  whenever  in  my  power, 
to  avoid  becoming  the  draughtsman  of  papers  to  be  reviewed  by 
a  public  body.  I  took  my  lesson  from  an  incident  which  I 
will  relate  to  you.  When  I  was  a  journeyman  printer,  one  of 
my  companions,  an  apprenticed  hatter,  having  served  out  his 
time,  was  about  to  open  shop  for  himself.  His  first  concern 
was  to  have  a  handsome  signboard,  with  a  proper  inscription. 
He  composed  it  in 'these  words,  John  Thompson,  Hatter,  makes 
and  sells  Hats  for  ready  Money,  with  a  figure  of  a  hat  sub- 
joined. But  he  thought  he  would  submit  it  to  his  friends  for 
their  amendments.  The  first  he  showed  it  to  thought  the 
word  hatter  tautologous,  because  followed  by  the  words  makes 
hats,  which  showed  he  was  a  hatter.  It  was  struck  out.  The 
next  observed  that  the  word  makes  might  as  well  be  omitted, 
because  his  customers  would  not  care  who  made  the  hats;  if 


260  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

good  and  to  their  mind  they  would  buy,  by  whomsoever  made. 
He  struck  it  out.  A  third  said  he  thought  the  words  for  ready 
money  were  useless,  as  it  was  not  the  custom  of  the  place  to  sell 
on  credit.  Every  one  who  purchased  expected  to  pay.  They 
were  parted  with;  and  the  inscription  now  stood,  '  John 
Thompson  sells  hats.'  ( Sells  hats?'  says  his  next  friend; 
'  why,  nobody  will  expect  you  to  give  them  away.  What,  then, 
is  the  use  of  that  word?'  It  was  stricken  out,  and  hats  fol- 
lowed, the  rather  as  there  was  one  painted  on  the  board.  So 
his  inscription  was  reduced  ultimately  to  John  Thompson,  with 
the  figure  of  a  hat  subjoined.'  * 

"  We  must  all  hang  together,"  said  Mr.  Hancock,  when  the 
draft  had  been  accepted  and  was  ready  to  be  signed. 

"  Or  else  we  shall  hang  separately,"  Franklin  is  reported 
to  have  answered. 

John  Hancock,  President  of  the  Congress,  put  his  name  to 
the  document  in  such  a  bold  hand  that  "  the  King  of  Eng- 
land might  have  read  it  without  spectacles."  Franklin  set 
his  signature  with  its  looped  flourish  among  the  immor- 
tals. In  the  same  memorable  month  of  July  Congress  ap- 
pointed Franklin,  Jefferson,  and  Adams  to  prepare  a  national 
seal. 

The  plan  submitted  by  Franklin  for  the  great  seal  of  the 
United  States  was  poetic  and  noble.  It  is  thus  described: 

"  Pharaoh  sitting  in  an  open  chariot,  a  crown  on  his  head 
and  a  sword  in  his  hand,  passing  through  the  divided  waters 
of  the  Red  Sea  in  pursuit  of  the  Israelites.  Eays  from  a  pillar 
of  fire  in  the  cloud,  expressive  of  the  Divine  presence  and 
command,  beaming  on  Moses,  who  stands  on  the  shore,  and, 


THE  DECLARATION  OF  INDEPENDENCE.  261 

extending  his  hand  over  the  sea,,  causes  it  to  overflow  Pharaoh. 
Motto:  'Rebellion  to  tyrants  is  obedience  to  God.'" 

This  device  was  rejected  by  Congress,  which  decided  upon 
a  more  simple  allegory,  and  the  motto  E  Pluribus  Unum. 

It  was  a  time  of  rejoicing  in  Philadelphia  now,  and  of  the 
great  events  Jefferson  was  the  voice  and  Franklin  was  the  soul. 

The  citizens,  as  we  have  shown,  tore  down  all  the  king's 
arms  and  royal  devices  from  the  government  houses,  court- 
rooms, shops,  and  taverns.  They  made  a  huge  pile  of  tar  bar- 
rels and  placed  these  royal  signs  upon  them.  On  a  fiery  July 
night  they  put  the  torch  to  the  pile,  and  the  flames  curled  up, 
and  the  black  smoke  rose  in  a  high  column  under  the  moon 
and  stars,  and  the  last  vestige  of  royalty  disappeared  in  the 
bonfire. 

Franklin  heard  the  Liberty  Bell  ring  out  on  the  adop- 
tion of  the  Declaration  of  Independence  by  Congress.  He  saw 
the  bonfire  rise  in  the  night  of  these  eventful  days,  and  heard 
the  shouts  of  the  people.  He  had  set  his  hand  to  the  Declara- 
tion. He  desired  next  to  set  it  to  a  treaty  of  alliance  with 
France.  Would  this  follow? 

A  very  strange  thing  had  happened  in  the  colonies  some 
seven  months  or  more  before — in  November,  1775.  A  paper 
was  presented  to  Congress,  coming  from  a  mysterious  source, 
that  stated  that  a  stranger  had  arrived  in  Philadelphia  who 
brought  an  important  message  from  a  foreign  power,  and  who 
wished  to  meet  a  committee  of  Congress  in  secret  and  to  make 
a  confidential  communication. 

Congress  was  curious,  but  it  at  first  took  no  official  notice  of 
the  communication.  But,  like  the  CumaBan  sibyl  to  Tarquin, 


18 


262  TRUE  T0  HIS  HOME. 

the  message  came  again.  It  was  not  received,  but  it  made  an 
unofficial  impression.  It  was  repeated.  Who  was  this  mys- 
terious stranger?  Whence  came  he,  and  what  had  he  to 
offer? 

The  curiosity  grew,  and  Congress  appointed  a  committee 
consisting  of  John  Jay,  Dr.  Franklin,  and  Thomas  Jefferson 
to  meet  the  foreigner  and  to  receive  his  proposition. 

The  committee  appointed  an  hour  to  meet  the  secret  mes- 
senger, and  a  place,  which  was  one  of  the  rooms  of  Carpenters' 
Hall. 

At  the  time  appointed  they  went  to  the  place  and  waited 
the  coming  of  the  unknown  ambassador. 

There  entered  the  room  an  elderly  man  of  dignified  appear- 
ance and  military  bearing.  He  was  lame;  he  may  have  been 
at  some  time  wounded.  He  spoke  with  a  French  accent.  It 
was  plainly  to  be  seen  that  he  was  a  French  military  officer. 

Why  had  he  come  here?     Where  had  he  been  hiding? 

The  committee  received  him  cautiously  and  inquired  in  re- 
gard to  the  nature  of  his  mission. 

"  His  Most  Christian  Majesty  the  King  of  France,"  said  he, 
"  has  heard  of  your  struggle  for  a  defense  of  your  rights  and 
for  liberty.  He  has  desired  me  to  meet  you  as  his  representa- 
tive, and  to  express  to  you  his  respect  and  sympathy,  and  to 
say  to  you  in  secrecy  that  should  the  time  come  when  you 
needed  aid,  his  assistance  would  not  be  withheld." 

This  was  news  of  moment.  The  committee  expressed  their 
gratitude  and  satisfaction,  and  said: 

"  Will  you  give  us  the  evidence  of  your  authority  that  we 
may  present  it  to  Congress?  " 


THE  DECLARATION  OP  INDEPENDENCE.  263 

His  answer  was  strange. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  drawing  his  hand  across  his  throat, 
"  I  shall  take  care  of  my  head." 

"  But,"  said  one  of  the  committee,  "  in  an  event  of  such 
importance  we  desire  to  secure  the  friendly  opinion  of  Con- 
gress." 

"  Gentlemen,"  making  the  same  gesture,  "  I  shall  take  care 
of  my  head."  He  then  said  impressively:  "  If  you  want  arms, 
you  may  have  them;  if  you  want  ammunition,  you  may  have 
it;  if  you  want  money,  you  may  have  it.  Gentlemen,  I  shall 
take  care  of  my  head." 

He  went  out  and  disappeared  from  public  view.  He  is 
such  a  mysterious  character  in  our  history  as  to  recall  the 
man  with  the  Iron  Mask.  Did  he  come  from  the  King  of 
France?  None  knew,  or  could  ever  tell. 

Diplomacy  employed  secret  messengers  at  this  time.  It  was 
full  of  suggestions,  intrigues,  and  mysteries. 

But  there  was  one  thing  that  this  lame  but  courtly  French 
officer  did:  he  made  an  impression  on  the  minds  of  the  com- 
mittee that  the  colonies  had  a  friend  in  his  "  Most  Christian 
Majesty  the  King  of  France,"  and  from  him  they  might  hope 
for  aid  and  for  an  alliance  in  their  struggle  for  independence. 
Here  was  topic  indeed  for  the  secret  committee. 

On  the  26th  of  September,  1776,  Congress  elected  three 
ambassadors  to  represent  the  American  cause  in  the  court  of 
France;  they  were  Silas  Deane,  Arthur  Lee,  and  Benjamin 
Franklin.  Before  leaving  the  country  Franklin  collected  all 
the  money  that  he  could  command,  some  four  thousand  pounds, 
and  lent  it  to  Congress.  Taking  with  him  his  two  grandsons, 


264:  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

he  arrived  at  Kantes  on  the  7th  of  December  of  that  year,  and 
he  received  in  that  city  the  first  of  the  many  ovations  that  his 
long  presence  in  France  was  destined  to  inspire.  He  went  to 
Paris,  and  took  up  his  residence  at  Passy,  a  village  some  two 
miles  from  the  city,  on  a  high  hill  overlooking  the  city  and 
the  Seine.  It  was  a  lovely  place  even  in  Franklin's  day.  Here 
have  lived  men  of  royal  endowments — Rossini,  Bellini,  Lamar- 
tine,  Grisi.  The  arrival  of  Franklin  there,  where  he  lived 
many  years,  made  the  place  famous.  For  Franklin,  as  a 
wonder-worker  of  science  and  as  an  apostle  of  human  liberty, 
was  looked  upon  more  as  a  god  than  a  man  in  France — a  Plato, 
a  Cato,  a  Socrates,  with  the  demeanor  of  a  Procion. 

His  one  hope  now  was  that  he  would  be  able  to  set  the 
signature  which  he  had  left  on  the  Declaration  of  Independence 
on  a  Treaty  of  Alliance  between  the  States  of  America  and  his 
Most  Christian  Majesty  the  King  of  France.  Will  he,  0  shade 
of  the  old  schoolmaster  of  Boston  town? 

Jamie  the  Scotchman,  the  type  of  the  man  who  ridicules  and 
belittles  one,  but  claims  the  credit  of  his  success  when  that  one 
is  successful,  was  very  old  now.  Fine  old  Mr.  Calamity,  who  could 
only  see  things  in  the  light  of  the  past,  would  prophesy  no  more. 
A  young  man  with  a  purpose  is  almost  certain  to  meet  men  like 
these  in  his  struggles.  Not  all  are  able  to  pass  such  people 
in  the  Franklin  spirit.  He  heard  what  such  men  had  to  say, 
tried  to  profit  by  their  criticism,  but  wasted  no  time  or  energy 
in  dispute  or  retaliation.  The  seedtime  of  life  is  too  short, 
and  its  hours  are  too  few,  to  spend  in  baffling  detraction.  Time 
makes  changes  pleasantly,  and  tells  the  truth  concerning  all 
men.  A  high  purpose  seeking  fulfillment  under  humble  cir- 


THE  DECLARATION  OP  INDEPENDENCE.  265 

cumstances  is  sure  to  be  laughed  at.  It  is  that  which  stands 
alone  that  looks  queer. 

After  Samuel  Adams,  Franklin  was  among  the  first  of  those 
leaders  whose  heart  sought  the  independence  of  the  colonies. 
The  resolution  for  independence,  passed  on  July  4,  1776,  set 
ringing  the  Liberty  Bell  on  the  State  House  of  Philadelphia. 
Couriers  rode  with  the  great  news  of  the  century  and  of  the 
ages  to  Boston,  which  filled  the  old  town  with  joy. 

They  brought  a  copy  of  the  Declaration  with  them,  and  a 
day  was  appointed  for  the  reading  of  it  from  the  front  window 
of  the  State  House,  under  the  shadow  of  the  king's  arms,  the 
classic  inscription,  and  the  lion  and  the  unicorn. 

Old,  tottering  Jamie  the  Scotchman  was  among  those  who 
heard  the  great  news  with  an  enkindled  heart.  He,  who  had 
so  laughed  at  little  Ben's  attempts  for  the  public  welfare,  now 
claimed  more  and  more  to  have  been  the  greatest  friend  of  the 
statesman's  youth.  It  was  the  delight  of  his  ninety  or  more 
years  to  make  this  claim  wherever  he  went,  and  when  the 
courier  brought  the  news  of  the  Declaration,  we  may  see  him 
going  to  Jane  Mecom's  house. 

"  You  all  know  what  a  friend  I  was  to  that  boy,  and  how 
I  encouraged  him,  a  little  roughly  it  may  be,  but  I  always  meant 
well.  Jane,  on  the  day  the  Declaration  is  read  in  public  I 
want  you  to  let  me  go  with  you  to  hear  it." 

They  go  together;  she  a  lusty  woman  in  full  years,  and 
he  who  had  longed  outlived  his  generation. 

The  street  in  front  of  the  old  State  House  is  filled  with 
people.  The  balcony  window  is  thrown  up,  and  out  of  the 
Council  Chamber,  now  popularly  known  as  the  Sam  Adams 


266  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

room,  there  appears  the  representative  of  Sam  Adams  and  of 
five  members  of  the  Boston  schools  who  had  signed  the  Declara- 
tion. The  officers  of  the  State  are  there,  and  over  the  street 
shines  the  spire  of  the  South  Church  and  gleams  the  Province 
House  Indian.  The  children  are  there;  aged  idlers  who  loi- 
tered about  the  town  pump;  the  women  patriots  from  Spring 
Lane.  The  Xew  England  flag,  of  blue  ground  with  the  cross 
of  St.  George  on  a  white  field,  floats  high  over  all. 

A  voice  rends  the  clear  air.     It  read: 

"  When  in  the  course  of  human  events,"  and  it  inarches  on 
in  stately  tones  above  the  silence  of  the  people.  At  the  words 
"all  men  are  created  free  and  equal,"  the  name  of  Franklin 
breaks  upon  the  stillness.  Jamie  the  Scotchman  joins  in  the 
rising  applause,  and  he  proudly  turns  to  Jane  Mecom  and 
says: 

"  Only  to  think  what  a  friend  I  was  to  him,  too!  " 

They  return  by  the  Granary  burying  ground.  A  tall,  gray 
monument  holds  their  attention.  It  is  one  that  the,  people 
loved  to  visit  then,  and  that  touches  the  heart  to-day.  At  the 
foot  of  the  epitaph  they  read  again,  as  they  had  done  many 
times  before: 

"  Their  youngest  son, 

in  filial  regard  to  their  memory, 

places  this  stone." 

"  His  heart  was  true  to  the  old  folks,"  said  Jamie. 

It  was  the  monument  that  Benjamin  Franklin  had  erected 
to  his  parents. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

ANOTHER  SIGNATUBE.— THE  STOBY  OF  AUVEBGNE  SANS  TACHE. 

SOME  years  ago  I  stood  on  the  battlements  of  Metz,  once 
a  French  but  now  a  German  town.  Below  the  town,  with  its 
grand  esplanade,  on  which  is  a  heroic  statue  of  Marshal  Key, 
rolls  the  narrow  Moselle,  and  around  it  are  the  remains  of  forti- 
fications that  are  old  in  legend,  song,  and  story. 

It  was  here,  near  one  of  these  old  halls,  that  a  young  French- 
man saw,  as  it  were,  a  vision,  and  the  impression  of  that  hour 
was  never  lost,  but  became  a  turning  point  in  American  history. 

There  had  come  a  report  to  the  English  court  that  Wash- 
ington had  been  driven  across  the  Jerseys,  and  that  the  Amer- 
ican cause  was  lost. 

There  was  given  at  this  time  a  military  banquet  at  Metz. 
The  Duke  of  Gloucester,  brother  of  George  III,  was  present, 
and  among  the  French  officers  there  was  a  marquis,  lately  mar- 
ried, who  was  a  favorite  of  the  French  court.  He  had  been 
brought  up  in  one  of  the  heroic  provinces  of  Auvergne,  and  he 
had  been  associated  with  the  heroes  of  Gatinais,  whose  motto 
was  Auvergne  sans  tache.  The  Auvergnese  were  a  pas- 
toral people,  distinguished  for  their  courage  and  honor.  In 
this  mountainous  district  was  the  native  place  of  many  eminent 
men,  among  them  Polignac. 

267 


268  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

The  young  French,  marquis  who  was  conspicuous  at  the 
banquet  on  this  occasion  was  named  Lafayette. 

The  Duke  of  Gloucester  was  in  high  spirits  over  his  cups 
on  this  festal  night. 

"  Our  arms  are  triumphant  in  America! "  he  exclaimed. 
"  Washington  is  retreating  across  the  Jerseys." 

A  shout  went  up  with  glittering  wine-cups:  "  So  ever  flee 
the  enemies  of  George  III!  " 

"  Washington!  "  The  name  rang  in  the  young  French  offi- 
cer's ears.  He  had  in  his  veins  the  blood  of  the  mountaineers, 
and  he  loved  liberty  and  the  spirit  of  the  motto  Auvergne 
sans  tache. 

K 

He  may  never  have  heard  the  name  of  Washington  before, 
or,  if  he  had,  only  as  of  an  officer  who  had  given  Braddock  un- 
welcome advice.  But  he  knew  the  American  cause  to  be  that 
of  liberty,  and  Washington  to  be  the  leader  of  that  cause. 

And  Washington  "  was  retreating  across  the  Jerseys." 
Where  were  the  Jerseys?  He  may  never  have  heard  of  the 
country  before. 

He  went  out  into  the  air  under  the  moon  and  stars.  There 
came  to  him  a  vision  of  liberty  and  a  sense  of  his  duty  to  the 
cause.  The  face  of  America,  as  it  were,  appeared  to  him. 
"  When  first  I  saw  the  face  of  Ame'rica,  I  loved  her,"  he  said 
many  years  afterward  to  the  American  Congress. 

Washington  was  driven  back  in  the  cause  of  liberty.  La- 
fayette resolved  to  cross  the  seas  and  to  offer  Washington  his 
sword.  He  felt  that  liberty  called  him — liberty  for  America, 
which  might  mean  liberty  for  France  and  for  all  mankind. 

About  this  time  Benjamin  Franklin  began  to  receive  letters 


THE  STORY  OF  AUVERGNE  SANS  TACHE.  269 

from  this  young  officer,  filled  with  the  fiery  spirit  of  the  moun- 
taineers. The  officer  desired  a  commission  to  go  to  America 
and  enter  the  army.  But  it  was  a  time  of  disaster,  and  faith 
in  the  American  cause  was  very  low.  The  marquis  resolved 
to  go  to  America  at  his  own  expense. 

He  sailed  for  that  country  in  May,  1777.  He  landed  off 
the  coast  of  the  Carolinas  in  June,  and  made  his  memorable 
ride  across  the  country  to  Philadelphia  in  that  month.  Baron 
de  Kalb  accompanied  him. 

On  landing  on  the  shores  of  the  Carolinas,  he  and  Baron 
de  Kalb  knelt  down  on  the  sand,  at  night  under  the  stars,  and 
in  the  name  of  God  dedicated  their  swords  to  liberty. 

The  departure  of  these  two  officers  for  America  filled  all 
France  with  delight.  Lafayette  had  seen  that  it  would  be  so; 
that  his  going  would  awaken  an  enthusiasm  in  the  circles  of  the 
court  and  among  the  people  favorable  to  America;  that  it 
would  aid  the  American  envoys  in  their  mission.  It  was 
the  mountain  grenadiers  that  made  the  final  charges  at  the 
siege  of  Yorktown  under  the  inspiring  motto  of  Auvergne 
sans  tache  (Auvergne  without  a  stain). 

Franklin  now  dwelt  at  beautiful  Passy  on  the  hill,  and  his 
residence  there  was  more  like  a  princely  court  than  the  house 
of  an  ambassador.  He  gave  his  heart  and  life  and  influence 
to  seeking  an  alliance  between  France  and  the  States.  The 
court  was  favorable  to  the  alliance,  but  the  times  and  the  con- 
stitution of  the  kingdom  made  the  king  slow,  cautious,  and 
diplomatic. 

The  American  cause  wavered.  The  triumphs  of  Lord  Howe 
filled  England  with  rejoicing  and  Passy  with  alarm. 


270  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

In  the  midst  of  the  depression  at  Passy  there  came  a  mes- 
senger from  Massachusetts  who  brought  to  Franklin  the  news 
of  Burgoyne's  surrender.  When  Dr.  Franklin  was  told  that 
this  messenger  was  in  the  courtyard  of  Passy,  he  rushed  out  to 
meet  him. 

"  Sir,  is  Philadelphia  taken?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

Franklin  clasped  his  hands. 

"  But,  sir,  I  have  other  news.  Burgoyne  and  his  army  are 
prisoners  of  war!  " 

Great  was  the  rejoicing  at  Passy  and  in  Paris.  The  way 
to  an  alliance  appeared  now  to  open  to  the  envoys. 

"  0  Mr.  Austin,"  Dr.  Franklin  used  to  say  to  the  young 
messenger  from  Massachusetts,  "  you  brought  us  glorious 
news!  " 

The  tidings  was  followed  by  other  news  in  Passy.  Decem- 
ber 17,  1777,  was  a  great  and  joyful  day  there.  A  minister 
came  to  the  envoys  there  to  announce  that  the  French  Gov- 
ernment was  ready  to  conclude  an  agreement  with  the  United 
States,  and  to  make  a  formal  treaty  of  alliance  to  help  them  in 
the  cause  of  independence. 

The  cause  was  won,  but  the  treaty  was  yet  delayed.  There 
were  articles  in  it  that  led  to  long  debates. 

But  in  these  promising  days  Franklin  was  a  happy  man. 
He  dressed  simply,  and  he  lived  humbly  for  an  envoy,  though 
his  living  cost  him  some  thirteen  thousand  dollars  a  year.  He 
did  not  conform  to  French  fashions,  nor  did  the  French  ex- 
pect them  from  a  philosopher.  He  did  not  even  wear  a  wig, 
which  most  men  wore  upon  state  occasions.  Instead  of  a 


THE  STORY  OF  AUVERGNE  SANS  TACHE.  tfi 

wig  he  wore  a  fur  cap,  and  one  of  his  portraits  so  repre- 
sents him. 

While  the  negotiations  were  going  on,  a  large  cake  was 
sent  one  day  to  the  apartment  where  the  envoys  were  as- 
sembled. It  bore  the  inscription  Le  digne  Franklin 
(the  worthy  Franklin).  On  reading  the  inscription,  Mr. 
Silas  Deane,  one  of  the  ambassadors,  said,  "As  usual, 
Franklin,  we  have  to  thank  you  for  our  share  in  gifts  like 
these." 

"  Not  at  all,"  said  Franklin.  "  This  cake  is  designed  for  all 
three  of  us.  Don't  you  see?— Le  (Lee)  Digne  (Deane)  Frank- 
lin." 

lie  could  afford  to  be  generous  and  in  good  humor. 

February  6,  1778,  was  one  of  the  most  glorious  of  all  in 
Franklin's  life.  That  day  the  treaties  were  completed  and  put 
upon  the  tables  to  sign.  The  boy  of  the  old  Boston  writing 
school  did  honor  to  his  schoolmaster  again.  He  put  his  name 
now  after  the  conditions  of  the  alliance  between  France  and 
the  United  States  of  America. 

The  treaty  was  celebrated  in  great  pomp  at  the  court. 

The  event  was  to  be  publicly  announced  on  March  20, 
1778.  On  that  day  the  envoys  were  to  be  presented  to  the  king 
amid  feasts  and  rejoicings. 

Would  Franklin  wear  a  wig  on  that  great  occasion?  His 
locks  were  gray  and  thin,  for  he  was  seventy-two  years  old,  and 
his  fur  cap  would  not  be  becoming  amid  the  splendors  of  Ver- 
sailles. 

He  ordered  one.  The  hairdresser  came  with  it.  He  could 
not  fit  it  upon  the  philosopher's  great  head. 


272  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

"  It  is  too  small/'  said  Franklin.  "  Monsieur,  it  is  im- 
possible." 

"  No,  monsieur/'  said  the  perruquier,  "  it  is  not  that  the  wig 
is  too  small;  it  is  that  your  head  is  too  large!  " 

What  did  Franklin  njeed  of  a  wig?  He  dressed  for  the  oc- 
casion in  a  plain  suit  of  black  velvet,  with  snowy  ruffles  and 
silver  buckles.  When  the  chamberlain  saw  him  coming,  he 
hesitated  to  admit  him.  Admit  a  man  to  the  royal  presence 
in  his  own  head  alone?  But  he  allowed  the  philosopher  to  go 
on  in  his  velvet,  ruffles,  and  silver  buckles,  and  his  independent 
appearance  filled  the  court  with  delight. 

There  was  another  paper  that  he  must  now  have  begun  to 
see  in  his  clear  visions.  The  treaty  of  alliance  would  lead  to 
the  triumph  of  the  American  cause.  That  end  must  be  fol- 
lowed by  a  treaty  of  peace  between  Great  Britain  and  the 
United  States.  Would  he  sign  that  treaty  some  day  and  again 
honor  the  old  Boston  schoolmaster?  We  shall  see. 

But  how  did  young  Lafayette  meet  his  duties  in  the  dark 
days  of  America — he  whose  motto  was  "  Auvergne  without 
a  stain?  " 

The  day  of  his  test  came  again  at  a  banquet.  It  was  at 
York.  Let  us  picture  this  pivotal  scene  of  his  life  and  of 
American  history. 

After  the  triumphs  of  Gates  at  Saratoga,  Washington  be- 
came unpopular,  and  Congress  appointed  a  Board  of  War,  whose 
object  it  became  to  place  Lafayette  at  the  head  of  the  North- 
ern army,  and  thus  give  him  a  chance  to  supersede  his  chief. 

The  young  Frenchman  was  loyal  to  Washington,  and  the 
motto  Auvergne  sans  tache  governed  his  life. 


THE  STORY  OF  AUVERGNE  SANS  TACHE.  273 

Let  us  suppose  him  to  meet  his  trusty  old  friend  Baron 
de  Kalb,  the  German  temperance  general,  at  this  critical 
hour. 

"  Baron  de  Kalb,  we  stood  together  side  by  side  at  Metz,  and 
we  knelt  down  together  that  midsummer  night  when  we  first 
landed  on  Carolina's  sands,  and  then  we  rode  together  across 
the  provinces.  These  are  events  that  I  shall  ever  love  to  re- 
call. To-night  we  stand  together  again  in  brotherhood  of  soul. 
Baron,  the  times  are  dark  and  grow  more  perilous,  and  it  may 
be  I  now  confide  in  thee  for  the  last  time." 

"  Yes,  Lafayette,"  answered  De  Kalb,  "  I  myself  feel  'tis 
so.  You  may  live  and  rise,  but  I  may  fall.  But  wherever  I 
may  go  I  shall  draw  this  sword  that  I  consecrated  with  thine 
to  liberty.  It  may  be  ours  to  meet  by  chance  again,  but,  La- 
fayette, we  shall  never  be  as  we  are  now.  Thou  well  hast  said 
the  hour  is  dark.  Open  thy  soul,  then,  Lafayette,  to  me." 

"  Baron,  it  burns  my  brain  and  shrinks  my  heart  to  say  that 
the  hour  is  dark  not  only  for  the  cause  but  for  our  chief,  for 
Washington.  In  halls  of  state,  in  popular  applause,  the  rising 
star  is  Gates.  Factions  arise,  cabals  combine,  and  this  new 
Board  of  War  has  sent  for  me.  In  some  provincial  room  that 
flattery  decorates  they  are  to  make  for  me  a  feast.  What  means 
the  feast?  'Tis  this:  to  offer  me  the  Northern  field.  And 
why?  To  separate  my  sword  from  Washington.  '  If  thy  right 
hand  offend  thee,  cut  it  off!'  I'm  loyal  to  the  cause,  and 
must  obey  this  new-made  Board  of  War;  but  on  that  night, 
if  so  it  be  that  I  have  the  opportunity,  I  shall  arise,  and,  against 
all  flatteries,  take  my  stand.  I  then  and  there  will  proclaim 
in  clear-cut  words  my  loyalty  to  Washington.  He  is  the  cause; 


274:  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

in  him  it  stands  or  falls;  to  gain  a  world  for  self,  my  heart  could 
never  be  untrue  to  him.  Day  after  day,  month  after  month, 
year  after  year,  he  leads  the  imperiled  way,  yet  holds  his  faith 
in  God  and  man.  The  hireling  Hessians  roll  their  drums 
through  ports  and  towns;  the  wily  Indian  joins  the  invader; 
his  army  is  famine-smitten  and  thinned  with  fever,  and  drill 
in  rags,  while  Congress  meets  in  secret  halls  but  to  impede  his 
plans  and  criticise;  and  while  he  holds  the  scales  and  looks 
toward  the  end,  and  makes  retreat  best  serve  the  cause,  what 
rivals  rise!  See  brilliant  Gates  appear!  Does  he  not  know 
this  rivalry  and  hear  the  plaudits  that  surround  the  name  of 
Saratoga?  I've  shared  my  thoughts  with  Washington,  young 
as  I  am,  and  he  has  honored  me  with  his  esteem.  I  have  heard 
him  say:  "  0  Lafayette,  I  stand  alone  in  all  the  world!  I 
dream  no  dreams  of  high  ambition.  I  love  the  farm  more  than 
the  field — my  country  home  more  than  the  halls  of  state  I 
serve.  In  a  cause  like  this  I  hold  that  it  is  not  unsubstantial 
victories  but  generalship  that  wins.' 

"  One  day  he  spoke  like  this:  '  Marquis,  I  stood  one  winter 
night  upon  a  rocking  boat  and  crossed  the  Delaware.  It  was 
a  bitter  night;  no  stars  were  in  the  sky;  the  lanterns'  rays 
scarce  fell  upon  the  waters;  the  oars  rose  and  fell,  though  they 
were  frozen,  for  they  were  plied  by  strong  and  grizzly  fisher- 
men; the  snow  fell  pitiless,  with  hail  and  sleet  and  rain.  The 
night  was  wind,  and  darkness  was  the  air.  The  army  fol- 
lowed me,  where  I  could  not  see.  Our  lips  were  silent.  These 
stout  and  giant  men,  from  Cape  Ann  and  from  wintry  wharf- 
ages of  Marblehead,  knew  their  duty  well,  and  safe  we  crossed 
the  tide.'  In  that  lone  boat,  amid  the  freezing  slcct  and 


THE  STORY  OF  AUVERGNE  SANS  TACHE.  275 

darkness  deep,  the  new  flag  of  the  nation's  hope  marched  in 
darkness. 

"  Baron  de  Kalb,  there  is  a  spirit  whose  pinions  float  upon 
the  wings  of  time.  She  comes  to  me  in  dreams  and  visions  in 
such  hours  as  these.  I  saw  her  on  the  fortress  walls  of  Metz;  I 
knew  her  meaning  and  her  mission  saw.  Where  liberty  is, 
there  is  my  country,  and  all  I  am  I  again  offer  to  her 
cause.  Hear  me  this  hour;  the  presence  of  that  spirit  falls 
on  me  now  as  at  Metz.  I  go  to  the  feast  that  is  waiting  for  me; 
there  my  soul  must  be  true  and  speak  the  truth,  and  for  the 
truth  there  is  no  judgment  day.  At  Metz  I  left  myself  for 
liberty;  at  York  I  shall  be  as  true  to  honor.  I  hold  unsullied 
fame  to  be  more  than  titles — Auvergne  sans  tache.  My  resolu- 
tion makes  my  vision  clear.  Baron  de  Kalb,  mark  you  my 
words  in  this  prophetic  hour:  the  character  of  Washington 
will  free  one  day  the  world,  and  lead  the  Aryan  race  and  lib- 
erty and  peace.  It  is  not  his  genius — minds  as  great  have  been; 
it  is  not  his  heart — there  have  been  hearts  as  large;  it  is  not  his 
sword,  for  swords  have  been  as  brave,  but  it  is  himself  that 
makes  sure  the  cause.  He  shall  win  liberty,  and  give  to  men 
their  birthright  and  to  toil  a  field  of  hope;  to  industry  the 
wealth  that  it  creates,  and  to  the  toiler  his  dues.  So  liberty  to 
brotherhood  shall  lead,  and  brotherhood  to  peace,  and  brother- 
hood and  peace  shall  bring  to  unity  all  human  families,  and 
men  shall  live  no  more  in  petty  strife  for  gain,  but  for  the  souls 
of  men.  The  destinies  then,  as  in  Virgil's  eye,  shall  spin  life's 
web,  and  to  their  spindles  say,  'Thus  go  forever  and  for- 
ever on! '  He  is  the  leader  appointed  by  Heaven  for  sublime 
events.  I  am  sent  to  him  as  a  knight  of  God.  I  go  to  York. 


276  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

I  was  true  at  Metz  to  liberty,  and  in  the  council  hall  I  shall 
be  true,  whatever  is  offered  me,  to  Washington,  our  Wash- 
ington beloved!  to  the  world's  great  commoner!  §  Fare- 
well." 

The  feast  for  Lafayette  was  spread  at  York  in  a  blazing 
hall;  red  wine  rilled  the  crystal  cups.  Silken  banners  waved 
and  disclosed  the  magic  name  of  "  Lafayette."  The  Board 
of  War  was  there,  proud  Gates,  and  the  men  of  state.  The 
Fleur  de  Us  was  there  and  blew  across  the  national  ban- 
ners. Lafayette  came.  A  shout  arose  as  he  appeared. 
The  Board  of  War  was  merry,  and  the  wine  was  spilled 
and  toasts  were  drunk  to  all  the  heroes  of  the  war  except 
Washington.  The  name  of  Lafayette  was  hailed  with  adula- 
tion; then  all  was  still.  The  grand  commissioner  had  waved 
his  hand.  He  bowed,  and  gave  to  Lafayette  a  sealed  paper; 
he  raised  his  cup,  and  rose  and  bowed,  and  said,  "  Now  drink  ye 
all  to  him,  our  honored  guest,  commander  of  the  Army  of 
the  North."  The  oak  room  rang  with  cheers;  the  glasses 
clinked  and  gleamed. 

The  board  and  guests  sat  down.  There,  tall  and  grand 
above  the  council,  towered  the  form  of  Lafayette.  He  stood 
there  silent,  then  raised  a  crystal  cup,  and  said:  "  I  thank  you, 
friends,  and  I  would  that  I  were  worthier  of  your  applause. 
You  have  honored  many  worthy  names,  but  there  is  one  name 
that  you  have  omitted  in  your  many  toasts,  and  that  one  name 
to  me  stands  above  all  the  other  heroes  of  the  world!  I  drink 
to  him!  "  He  lifted  high  the  cup,  and  said,  "  I  pledge  my 
honor,  my  sword,  and  all  I  am  to  Washington!  " 

He  stood  in  silence;  no  other  cup  with  his  was  raised.     He 


THE  STORY  OP  AUVERGNE  SANS  TACHE.  277 

left  the  hall,  and  .walked  that  night  the  square  of  York  be- 
neath  the  moon  and  stars  as  he  had  done  at  Metz. 

He  .poured  forth  his  soul,  thinking  again  the  thoughts  of 
Metz,  and  making  again  the  high  resolves  that  he  had  made 
on  Carolina's  sands  with  Baron  de  Kalb: 

"  0  Liberty!  the  star  of  hope  that  lights  each  noble  cause, 
uniting  in  one  will  the  hearts  of  men,  and  massing  in  one  force 
the  wills  of  men.  The  stars  obey  the  sun;  the  earth,  the  stars; 
the  nations,  those  who  rise  o'er  vain  ambitions  and  become  the 
cause.  Thou  gavest  Rome  the  earth  and  Greece  the  sea;  thou 
sweepest  down  the  Alps,  and  made  the  marbles  bloom  like 
roses,  for  thy  heroes'  monuments!  I  hear  thy  voice,  and  I  obey, 
as  all  the  true  have  bowed  who  more  than  self  have  loved 
mankind!  " 

The  coming  of  Franklin  to  Passy  and  the  going  of  La- 
fayette from  Metz  were  among  the  great  influences  of  the  age 
of  liberty.  Count  Rochambeau  followed  Lafayette  after  the 
alliance,  and  brought  over  with  him  among  his  regiments  the 
grenadiers  of  Auvergne — Auvergne  sans  tache,  which  motto 
they  honored  at  Yorktown. 

Jenny's  heart  beat  with  joy  as  she  heard  of  the  coming  of 
Lafayette.  In  these  years  of  the  great  struggle  for  human 
liberty  she  looked  at  the  watch  and  counted  the  hours. 

Franklin  had  long  been  the  hope  of  the  country.  America 
looked  to  him  to  secure  the  help  of  France  in  the  long  struggle 
for  liberty.  Into  this  hope  humble  Jane  Mecom  entered  with 
a  sister's  confidence  and  pride. 

She  awaited  the  news  from  Philadelphia,  which  was  the  seat 
of  government,  with  the  deepest  concern.  The  nation's  affairs 
19 


278  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

were  her  family  affairs.  She  heard  it  said  daily  that  if  Franklin 
secured  the  aid  of  the  French  arms,  the  cause  of  liberty  in 
America  would  be  won.  It  was  the  kindly  hand  that  led  her 
when  a  girl  that  was  now  moving  behind  these  great  events. 

One  July  day,  at  the  full  tide  of  the  year,  she  was  standing 
in  the  bowery  yard  of  her  simple  home,  thinking  of  her  brother 
and  the  hope  of  the  people  in  him.  She  moved,  as  under  a 
spell  of  thought,  out  of  the  gate  and  toward  Beacon  Hill.  She 
met  Jamie  the  Scotchman  on  her  way. 

"  An'  do  you  think  that  he  will  be  able  to  do  it  ?  "  said 
Jamie.  By  "  it "  he  meant  the  alliance  of  France  with  the 
colonies.  "  Surely  it  is  a  big  job  to  undertake,  but  if  he  should 
succeed,  Jane,  I  want  you  always  to  remember  what  a  friend 
I  was  to  him.  Where  are  you  going,  Jane?" 

"  To  the  old  tree  on  Beacon  Hill,  where  Uncle  Ben  used  to 
talk  to  me  in  childhood." 

"  May  I  go  with  you,  Jane?  They  say  that  a  fleet  has  been 
sighted  off  Narragansett  Bay.  We  shall  know  when  the  post 
comes  in." 

"  Yes,  Jamie,  come  with  me.  I  love  to  talk  of  old  times 
with  you." 

"  And  what  a  friend  I  was  to  him" 

It  was  a  fiery  day.  Cumulus  clouds  were  piling  up  in  the 
fervid  heats.  The  Hancock  House  gardens,  where  now  the 
State  House  is,  were  fragrant  with  flowers,  and  the  Common 
below  was  a  sea  of  shining  leaves. 

A  boom  shook  the  air. 

"  What  was  that,  Jane?" 

"It  came  from  the  Castle." 


THE  STORY  OP  AUVERGNE  SANS  TACHE. 

"  Perhaps  there  is  news." 

Another  boom  echoed  from  the  Dorchester  Hills,  and  a 
puff  of  smoke  rose  from  the  Castle. 

;<  There  is  news,  Jamie;  the  Castle  is  firing  a  salute." 

"  I  think  the  French  fleet  has  arrived;  if  so,  his  work  is  be- 
hind it,  and  I  always  was  such  a  friend  to  him,  too!  " 

The  Castle  thundered.     There  was  news. 

A  magistrate  came  riding  over  the  hills  on  horseback,  going 
to  the  house  of  John  Hancock. 

"  Hey!  "  cried  Jamie,  "  an'  what  is  the  news?  " 

:<  The  French  fleet  has  arrived  at  Newport.  Count  Bocham- 
beau  is  landing  there.  Hurrah!  this  country  is  free!  " 

Jane  sat  down  under  the  old  tree,  as  she  had  done  when  a 
girl  in  Uncle  Benjamin's  day.  She  saw  the  flag  of  the  Stripes 
and  Stars  leap,  as  it  were,  into  the  air  over  the  Hancock  gar- 
dens. She  had  always  revered  John  Hancock  since  he  had 
heroically  written  to  Washington  at  the  time  of  the  siege, 
"Burn  Boston,  if  there  is  need,  and  leave  John  Hancock  a 
beggar! " 

Who  was  that  hurrying  up  from  the  broad  path  of  the  Com- 
mon toward  the  Hancock  mansion?  Jane  rose  up  and  looked. 
It  was  Samuel  Adams,  the  so-called  "  last  of  the  Puritans,"  a 
man  who  had  almost  forgotten  his  own  existence  in  his  efforts 
to  unite  the  colonies  for  the  struggle  for  liberty,  and  who  had 
said  to  an  agent  of  General  Gage  who  offered  him  bribes  if  he 
would  make  his  peace  with  the  king,  "  I  have  long  ago  made 
my  peace  with  the  King  of  kings,  and  no  power  on  earth  can 
make  me  recreant  to  my  duties  to  my  country." 

The  Castle  thundered  on  from  the  green  isle  in  the  harbor. 


280  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

People  were  hurrying  to  and  fro  and  gathering  about  the       ' 
grounds   of   the   first   President   of  the   Provincial    Congress. 
Business  stopped.    The  hearts  of  the  people  were  thrilled.    The 
independence  of  the  American  colonies  now  seemed  secure. 

There  went  up  a  great  shout  in  front  of  the  Hancock 
house.  It  was — 

" Franklin L  Eochambeau!  Franklin!" 

Jamie  the  Scotchman  echoed  the  cheer  from  his  lusty  lungs. 

"Franklin!  "  he  cried,  waving  his  hat,  "  Franklin  now  and 
forever! " 

His  face  beamed.  "  Only  think,  Jane,  what  a  friend  I 
used  to  be  to  him!  What  do  you  suppose  gave  his  hand  such 
power  in  these  affairs  of  the  nation?  " 

"It  was  his  heart,  Jamie." 

"  Yes,  yes,  Jane,  that  was  it — it  was  the  heart  of  Franklin — 
of  Ben,  and  don't  you  never  forget  what  a  friend  I  used  to  be 
to  him." 

The  coming  of  Eochambeau,  under  the  influence  of  the 
poor  tallow  chandler's  son,  was  a  re-enforcement  that  helped  to 
gain  the  victory  of  liberty.  When  Cornwallis  was  taken,  Jane 
Mecom  heard  the  Castle  thunder  again  over  the  sea;  and  when 
Rochambeau  came  to  Boston  to  prepare  for  the  re-embarkation 
of  the  French  army,  she  saw  her  brother's  hand  behind  all  these 
events,  and  felt  like  one  who  in  her  girlhood  had  been  taken 
into  the  counsels  of  the  gods.  Her  simple  family  affairs  had 
become  those  of  the  nation. 

She  knew  the  springs  of  the  nation's  history,  and  she  loved 
to  recall  the  days  when  her  brother  was  Silence  Dogood, 
which  he  had  never  ceased  to  be. 


FRANKLIN    SIGNS    THE    TREATY    OF    PEACE. — HOW    GEORGE    III 
RECEIVES   THE  NEWS. 

THE  surrender  of  Lord  Cornwallis  at  Yorktown  brought 
the  war  to  an  end.  The  courier  from  the  army  came  flying 
into  Philadelphia  at  night.  The  watchman  called  out,  "  Past 
twelve  o'clock,  and  all  is  well! "  "  Past  one  o'clock,  and  all  is 
well!  "  and  "  Past  two  o'clock,  and  Cornwallis  is  taken!  "  The 
people  of  the  city  were  in  the  streets  early  that  morning.  Bells 
pealed;  men  saluted  each  other  in  the  name  of  "  Peace." 

Poor  George  III!  He  had  stubbornly  sought  to  subdue 
the  colonies,  and  had  honestly  believed  that  he  had  been  di- 
vinely appointed  to  rule  them  after  his  own  will.  No  idea  that 
he  had  ever  been  pigheaded  and  wrong  had  ever  been  driven 
into  his  dull  brain.  His  view  of  his  prerogative  was  that  what- 
ever he  thought  to  be  best  was  best,  and  they  were  ungrateful 
and  stiff-necked  people  who  took  a  different  view,  and  that  it 
was  his  bounden  duty  to  punish  such  in  his  colonies  for  their 
obstinacy. 

It  was  November  25th  in  London — Sunday.  A  'messenger 
came  flying  from  the  coast  to  Pall  Mall.  He  was  bearing  ex- 
citing news.  On  he  went  throygh  London  until  he  reached 
the  house  of  George  Germain,  Minister  of  American  Affairs. 

281 


282  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

The  messenger  handed  to  Lord  George  a  dispatch.  The  minis- 
ter glanced  at  it  and  read  the  fate  of  the  New  World,  and 
must  have  stood  as  one  dazed: 

"  Cormvallis  has  surrendered!  " 

Lord  Walsingham,  an  under-Secretary  of  State,  was  at  the 
house.  To  him  he  read  the  stunning  dispatch.  The  two  took 
a  hackney  coach  and  rode  in  haste  to  Lord  Stormont's. 

"  Mount  the  coach  and  go  with  us  to  Lord  North's.  Corn- 
wallis  is  taken!  " 

Lord  Stormont  mounted  the  coach,  and  the  three  rode  to 
the  office  of  the  Secretary  of  State. 

The  prime  minister  received  the  news,  we  are  told,  "  as  he 
would  have  taken  a  ball  into  his  heart." 

"  0  God,  it  is  all  over!  "  he  exclaimed,  pacing  up  and  down 
the  room,  and  again  and  again,  "  0  God,  it  is  over! " 

The  news  was  conveyed  to  the  king  that  half  of  his  empire 
was  lost — that  his  hope  of  the  New  World  was  gone.  How  was 
the  king  affected?  Says  a  writer  of  the  times,  who  gives  us  a 
glance  at  this  episode: 

"  He  dined  on  that  day,"  he  tells  us,  "  at  Lord  George  Ger- 
main's; and  Lord  Walsingham,  who  likewise  dined  there,  was 
the  only  guest  that  had  become  acquainted  with  the  fact.  The 
party,  nine  in  number,  sat  down  to  the  table.  Lord  George 
appeared  serious,  though  he  manifested  no  discomposure.  Be- 
fore the  dinner  was  finished  one  of  his  servants  delivered  him  a 
letter,  brought  back  by  the  messenger  who  had  been  dispatched 
to  the  king.  Lord  George  opened  and  perused  it;  then 
looking  at  Lord  Walsingham,  to  whom  he  exclusively  directed 
his  observation,  '  The  king  writes,'  said  he,  ( just  as  he  always 


FRANKLIN  SIGNS  THE  TREATY  OF  PEACE.         283 

does,  except  that  I  observe  he  has  omitted  to  note  the  hour 
and  the  minute  of  his  writing  with  his  usual  precision.'  This 
remark,  though  calculated  to  awaken  some  interest,  excited  no 
comment;  and  while  the  ladies,  Lord  George's  three  daughters, 
remained  in  the  room,  they  repressed  their  curiosity.  But  they 
had  no  sooner  withdrawn  than  Lord  George,  having  acquainted 
them  that  from  Paris  information  had  just  arrived  of  the  old 
Count  de  Maurepas,  first  minister,  lying  at  the  point  of  death, 
'  It  would  grieve  me/  said  he,  *  to  finish  my  career,  however  far 
advanced  in  years,  were  I  first  minister  of  France,  before  I  had 
witnessed  the  termination  of  this  great  contest  between  Eng- 
land and  America.'  '  He  has  survived  to  see  that  event,'  re- 
plied Lord  George,  with  some  agitation.  Utterly  unsuspicious 
of  the  fact  which  had  happened  beyond  the  Atlantic,  he  con- 
ceived him  to  allude  to  the  indecisive  naval  action  fought  at 
the  mouth  of  the  Chesapeake  early  in  the  preceding  month  of 
September  between  Admiral  Graves  and  Count  de  Grasse,  an 
engagement  which  in  its  results  might  prove  most  injurious 
to  Lord  Cornwallis.  Under  this  impression,  '  My  meaning,' 
said  he,  'is,  that  if  I  were  the  Count  de  Maurepas  I  should 
wish  to  live  long  enough  to  behold  the  final  issue  of  the  war 
in  Virginia.'  '  He  has  survived  to  witness  it  completely,'  an- 
swered Lord  George.  *  The  army  has  surrendered,  and  you 
may  peruse  the  particulars  of  the  capitulation  in  that  paper,' 
taking  at  the  same  time  one  from  his  pocket,  which  he  delivered 
into  his  hand,  not  without  visible  emotion.  By  his  permission 
he  read  it  aloud,  while  the  company  listened  in  profound  si- 
lence. They  then  discussed  its  contents  as  affecting  the  min- 
istry, the  country,  and  the  war.  It  must  be  confessed  that  they 


284  TRUE   TO  HIS  HOME. 

were  calculated  to  diffuse  a  gloom  over  the  most  convivial 
society,  and  that  they  opened  a  wide  field  for  political  specu- 
lation. 

"  After  perusing  the  account  of  Lord  Cornwallis's  surrender 
at  Yorktown,  it  was  impossible  for  all  present  not  to  feel  a 
lively  curiosity  to  know  how  the  king  had  received  the  intelli- 
gence, as  Well  as  how  he  had  expressed  himself  in  his  note  to 
Lord  George  Germairij  on  the  first  communication  of  so  painful 
an  event.  He  gratified  their  wish  by  reading  it  to  them,  ob- 
serving at  the  same  time  that  it  did  the  highest  honor  to  his 
Majesty's  fortitude,  firmness,  and  consistency  of  character.  The 
words  made  an  impression  on  his  memory,  which  the  lapse  of 
more  than  thirty  years  has  not  erased;  and  he  here  com- 
memorates its  tenor  as  serving  to  show  how  that  prince  felt 
and  wrote  under  one  of  the  most  afflicting  as  well  as  humili- 
ating occurrences  of  his  reign.  The  billet  ran  nearly  to  this 
effect: 

" '  I  have  received  with  sentiments  of  the  deepest  concern 
the  communication  which  Lord  George  Germain  has  made  me 
of  the  unfortunate  result  of  the  operations  in  Virginia.  I  par- 
ticularly lament  it  on  account  of  the  consequences  connected 
with  it,  and  the  difficulties  which  it  may  produce  in  carrying 
on  the  public  business,  or  in  repairing  such  a  misfortune.  But 
I  trust  that  neither  Lord  George  Germain,  nor  any  member  of 
the  cabinet,  will  suppose  that  it  makes  the  smallest  alteration 
in  those  principles  of  my  conduct  which  have  directed  me  in 
past  time,  and  which  will  always  continue  to  animate  me  un- 
der every  event  in  the  prosecution  of  the  present  contest.' 
Not  a  sentiment  of  despondency  or  of  despair  was  to  be  found 


FRANKLIN  SIGNS  THE  TREATY  OP  PEACE.         285 

in  the  letter,  the  very  handwriting  of  which  indicated  com- 
posure of  mind." 

Franklin  was  still  envoy  plenipotentiary  at  beautiful  Passy. 
He  received  the  thrilling  news,  and  wondered  what  terms  the 
English  Government  would  now  seek  to  make  in  the  interests 
of  peace. 

The  king  was  shaken  ir.  mind  and  becoming  blind.  He 
was  opposed  to  any  negotiations  for  peace,  and  threatened 
to  abdicate.  He  sank  into  a  pitiable  state  of  insanity  some 
years  after,  was  confined  in  a  padded  room,  and  even  knew 
not  when  the  battle  of  Waterloo  was  fought,  and  when 
his  own  son  died  he  was  not  called  to  the  funeral  cere- 
monies. 

But  negotiations  were  begun,  or  attempted,  with  Dr.  Frank- 
lin at  Paris.  Passy  was  again  the  scene  of  great  events. 

Mr.  Adams,  as  a  representative  of  the  United  States,  ar- 
rived in  Paris.  Mr.  Gay,  another  representative,  was  there; 
conference  after  conference  was  held  with  the  English  ambas- 
sador, and  the  final  conference  was  held  with  the  English  min- 
isters on  November  29,  1782. 

On  the  18th  of  January,  1782,  at  Versailles,  the  repre- 
sentatives of  England,  France,  and  Spain  signed  the  prelimi- 
naries of  peace,  declaring  hostilities  suspended,  in  the  presence 
of  Mr.  Adams  and  Dr.  Franklin.  These  preliminaries  were 
finally  received  as  a  definitive  treaty  of  peace,  and  on  Wednes- 
day, September  3,  1783,  this  Treaty  of  Peace  was  signed  in 
Paris. 

When  the  preliminary  treaty  was  signed,  Franklin  rushed 
into  the  arms  of  the  Due  de  la  Rochefoucault,  exclaiming: 


286  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

"  My  friend,  could  I  have  hoped  at  my  age  to  enjoy  such 
happiness?"  He  was  then  seventy-six  years  old. 

So  again  the  handwriting  of  the  old  Boston  school  appeared 
in  the  great  events  of.  nations.  It  was  now  set  to  peace. 

It  would  not  seem  likely  that  it  would  ever  again  adorn 
any  like  document.  Franklin  was  old  and  gray.  He  had 
signed  the  Declaration,  the  Treaty  of  Alliance,  and  now  the 
Treaty  of  Peace.  He*  had  done  his  work  in  writing  well.  It 
had  ended  well.  Seventy-six  years  old;  surely  he  would  rest 
now  at  Passy,  or  return  to  some  Philadelphia  seclusion  and 
await  the  change  that  must  soon  fall  upon  him. 

But  this  glorious  old  man  has  not  yet  finished  the  work 
begun  by  Silence  Dogood.  Those  are  always  able  to  do  the 
most  who  are  doing  many  things.  It  is  a  period  of  young  men 
now;  it  was  a  time  of  old  men  then.  People  sought  wisdom 
from  experience,  not  experiment. 

The  peace  is  signed.  The  bells  are  ringing,  and  oppressed 
peoples  everywhere  rejoice.  There  is  an  iris  on  the  cloud  of 
humanity.  The  name  of  Franklin  fills  the  world,  and  in  most 
places  is  pronounced  like  a  benediction. 

From  a  tallow-chandler's  shop  to  palaces;  from  the  com- 
panionship of  Uncle  Ben,  the  poet,  to  that  of  royal  blood,  peo- 
ple of  highest  rank,  and  the  most  noble  and  cultured  of  man- 
kind; from  being  laughed  at,  to  being  looked  upon  with  uni- 
versal reverence,  love,  and  awe. 


CHAPTER   XXXIX. 

THE    TALE    OF   AN    OLD   VELVET   COAT. 

WHEN  Franklin  appeared  to  sign  the  Treaty  of  Peace  be- 
tween England  and  the  United  States,  he  surprised  the  minis- 
ters, envoys,  and  his  own  friends  by  wearing  an  old  velvet  coat. 
What  did  his  appearance  in  this  strange  garment  mean? 

We  must  tell  you  the  story,  for  it  is  an  illustratidn  of  his 
honorable  pride  and  the  sensitiveness  of  his  character.  There 
was  a  time  when  all  England,  except  a  few  of  his  own  friends, 
were  laughing  at  Franklin.  Why? 

Men  who  reach  honorable  success  in  life  always  pass  through 
dark  days — every  sun  and  star  is  eclipsed  some  day — and  Frank- 
lin had  one  day  of  eclipse  that  burned  into  his  very  soul,  the 
memory  of  which  haunted  him  as  long  as  he  lived. 

It  was  that  day  when  he,  after  a  summons,,  appeared  before 
the  Council  of  the  Crown  as  the  agent  of  the  colonies,  and  was 
openly  charged  with  dishonor.  It  is  the  day  of  the  charge  of 
dishonor  that  is  the  darkest  of  all  life.  To  an  honorable  man 
it  is  the  day  of  a  false  charge  of  dishonor  that  leaves  the  deep- 
est sting  in  memory. 

"  My  life  and  honor  both  together  run ; 
Take  honor  from  me,  and  my  life  is  done." 

287 


288  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

But  how  came  Franklin,  the  agent  of  the  colonies  in  Lon- 
don, to  be  called  before  the  Privy  Council  and  to  be  charged 
with  dishonor? 

While  he  was  in  London  and  the  colonies  were  filled  with 
discontent  and  indignation  at  the  severe  measures  of  the  crown, 
there  came  to  him  a  member  of  Parliament  who  told  him  that 
these  measures  of  which  the  colonies  complained  had  been 
brought  about  by  certain  men  in  the  colonies  themselves;  that 
the  ministry  had  acted  upon  the  advice  of  these  men,  and  had 
thought  that  they  were  acting  justly  and.  wisely.  Two  of  the 
men  cited  were  Lieutenant-Governor  Hutchinson  and  Andrew 
Oliver,  both  belonging  to  most  respected  and  powerful  families 
in  the  colonies. 

Franidin  could  not  believe  these  statements  against  his 
countrymen,  and  asked  for  the  proof.  The  member  of  Par- 
liament brought  to  him  a  package  of  letters  addressed  to 
public  men  on  public  affairs,  written  by  Lieutenant-Governor 
Hutchinson  and  Mr.  Oliver,  which  proved  to  him  that  the  se- 
vere action  of  the  ministry  against  Boston  and  the  province  had 
been  brought  about  by  Bostonians  themselves.  Franklin  asked 
permission  to  send  these  letters  to  Boston  in  the  interests  of  jus- 
tice to  the  ministry.  The  request  was  granted.  The  letters 
were  sent  to  Boston,  and  were  read  in  private  to  the  General 
Assembly  of  the  province.  As  an  agent  of  the  colonies,  Frank- 
lin could  not  have  done  less  in  the  interests  of  justice,  truth, 
and  honorable  dealing. 

But  the  use  of  these  letters  angered  the  ministry,  and 
Franklin  was  called  before  the  Privy  Council  to  answer  the 
charge  of  surreptitiousjy  obtaining  private  correspondence 


THE  TALE  OF  AN  OLD  VELVET  COAT.  289 

and  using  it  for  purposes  detrimental  to  the  royal  govern- 
ment. 

To  persons  whose  whole  purpose  of  life  is  to  live  honor- 
ably such  days  as  these  come  and  develop  character. 
Every  one  has  some  lurking  enemy  eager  to  misinterpret  him 
to  his  own  advantage.  The  lark  must  fly  to  the  open  sky 
when  he  sees  the  serpent  coiling  among  the  roses,  or  he  must 
fight  and  dare  the  odds.  Woe  be  to  the  wrongdoer  who  tri- 
umphs in  such  a  case  as  this!  He  may  gain  money  and  ease, 
and  laugh  at  his  adversary,  but  when  a  man  has  proved  untrue 
to  any  man  for  the  sake  of  his  own  advantage,  it  may  be  writ- 
ten of  him,  "  He  went  out,  and  it  was  night."  A  short  chapter 
of  a  part  of  a  biography  or  history  may  be  an  injustice,  and 
seem  to  show  that  there  is  no  God  in  the  government  of  the 
world,  but  a  long  chapter  of  full  history  reveals  God  on  the 
high  throne  of  his  power,  and  justice  as  his  strength  and  glory. 
The  Roman  emperors  built  grand  monuments  to  atone  for  their 
injustice,  cruelty,  and  vfce-seeking  lives,  but  these  only  black- 
ened their  names  by  recalling  what  they  were,  and  defeated 
their  builders'  ends.  In  this  world  all  long  chapters  of  his- 
tcry  read  one  way:  that  character  is  everything,  and  that  time 
tells  the  truth  about  all  things.  Justice  is  the  highest  ex- 
pectation of  life;  it  is  only  wise  so  to  live  that  one's  "  expecta- 
tion may  not  be  disappointed."  The  young  man  can  not  be 
too  soon  led  to  see  that  "he  that  is  spiritual  judgeth  all 
things,  and  that  no  man  judgeth  him." 

It  was  the  year  1773,  when  Franklin  was  sixty-eight  years 
of  age,  that  this  dark  and  evil  day  came.  A  barrister  named 
Wedderburn,  young  in  years  and  new  to  the  bar,  a  favorite  of 


290  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

Lord  North,  and  one  who  was  regarded  as  "  a  wonderfully  smart 
young  man/'  was  to  present  the  case  of  the  government  against 
him. 

The  case  filled  all  England  Avith  intense  interest.  The 
most  notable  men  of  the  kingdom  arranged  to  be  present  at 
the  hearing.  Thirty-five  members  of  the  Privy  Council  were 
present,  an  unusual  number  at  such  an  assembly.  Lord  North 
was  there;  the  Archbishop  of  Canterbury;  even  Dr.  Priestley 
was  there. 

Dr.  Franklin  appeared  on  this  memorable  day  in  a  velvet 
coat.  He  took  a  place  in  the  room  in  a  recess  formed  by  a 
chimney,  a  retired  place,  where  he  stood  motionless  and  silent. 
The  coat  was  of  Manchester  velvet,  and  spotted. 

Wedderburn  addressed  the  Council.  He  was  witty, brilliant, 
careless  of  facts.  His  address  on  that  occasion  was  the  talk  of 
all  England  in  a  few  days,  and  it  led  him  to  a  career  of  fame 
that  would  have  been  success  had  it  had  the  right  foundation. 
But  nothing  lasts  that  is  not  sincere.  Everything  in  this 
world  has  to  be  readjusted  that  is  not  right. 

"  How  these  letters,"  said  he,  "  came  into  the  possession 
of  any  one  but  the  right  owners  is  a  mystery  for  Dr.  Franklin 
to  explain." 

He  then  spoke  of  Mr.  Whatley,  to  whom  the  letters  were  first 
consigned,  and  proceeded  thus: 

"  He  has  forfeited  all  the  respect  of  societies  and  of  men. 
Into  what  companies  will  he  hereafter  go  with  an  unembar- 
rassed face,  or  the  honest  intrepidity  of  virtue?  Men  will 
watch  him  with  a  jealous  eye;  they  will  hide  their  papers  from 
him,  and  lock  up  their  escritoires.  He  will  henceforth  esteem 


THE  TALE  OF  AN  OLD  VELVET  COAT.  291 

it  a  libel  to  be  called  a  man  of  letters;  this  man  of  three  letters. 
(Fur— a  thief.)" 

The  manner  of  the  orator  thrilled  the  august  company.  It 
is  thus  described  by  Jeremy  Bentham: 

"  I  was  not  more  astonished  at  the  brilliancy  of  his  light- 
ning than  astounded  by  the  thunder  that  accompanied  it.  As 
he  stood,  the  cushion  lay  on  the  council  table  before  him;  his 
station  was  between  the  seats  of  two  of  the  members,  on  the 
side  of  the  right  hand  of  the  lord  president.  I  would  not,  for 
double  the  greatest  fee  the  orator  could  on  that  occasion  have 
received,  been  in  the  place  of  that  cushion;  the  ear  was  stunned 
at  every  blow;  he  had  been  reading  perhaps  in  that  book  in 
which  the  prince  of  Roman  orators  and  rhetoric  professors  in- 
structs his  pupils  how  to  make  impression.  The  table  groaned 
under  the  assault.  Alone,  in  the  recess  on  the  left  hand  of  the 
president,  stood  Benjamin  Franklin,  in  such  position  as  not 
to  be  visible  from  the  situation  of  the  president,  remaining  the 
whole  time  like  a  rock,  in  the  same  -posture,  his  head  resting  on 
his  left  hand;  and  in  that  attitude  abiding  the  pelting  of  the 
pitiless  storm." 

Franklin,  the  agent  of  the  colonies,  stood  in  his  humble 
place,  calm  and  undisturbed  to  all  outward  appearance,  but  he 
was  cut  to  the  quick  as  he  heard  this  assembly  of  representative 
Englishmen  laughing  at  his  supposed  dishonor. 

Says  one  of  that  day,  "  At  the  sallies  of  the  orator's  sarcas- 
tic wit  all  the  members  of  the  Council,  the  president  himself 
not  excepted,  frequently  laughed  outright." 

Benjamin  Franklin  went  home,  and  put  away  his  spotted 
velvet  coat.  He  might  want  it  again.  It  would  be  a  re- 


292  TEUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

minder  to  him — a  lesson  of  life.  He  might  wear  it  again 
some  day. 

The  next  day,  being  Sunday,  the  eminent  Dr.  Priestley  came 
to  take  breakfast  with  him. 

Dr.  Franklin  said:  "  Let  me  read  the  arraignment  twice 
over.  I  have  never  before  been  so  sensible  of  the  power  of 
a  good  conscience.  If  I  had  not  considered  the  thing  for 
which  I  have  been  so  much  insulted  the  best  action  of  my 
life,  and  which  I  certainly  should  do  again  under  like  circum- 
stances, I  could  not  have  supported  myself." 

Franklin  held  an  office  under  the  crown.  On  Monday 
morning  a  letter  was  brought  to  him  from  the  postmaster- 
general.  It  read: 

"  The  king  finds  it  necessary  to  dismiss  you  from  the  office 
of  deputy  postmaster-general  in  America." 

Dismissed  in  disgrace  at  the  age  of  sixty-eight!  And  Eng- 
land laughing.  He  had  nothing  left  to  comfort  him  now  but 
his  conscience — that  was  the  everything. 

The  old  spotted  velvet  coat;  he  brought  it  out  on  the  day 
of  the  treaty.  It  was  some  nine  or  more  years  old  now.  He 
stood  like  a  culprit  in  it  one  day;  it  should  adorn  him  now  in 
the  hour  of  his  honor. 

He  was  facing  eighty  years. 

He  prepared  to  leave  France,  where  his  career  had  been 
one  of  such  honor  and  glory  that  his  fame  filled  the  world. 

The  court  made  him  a  parting  present.  It  was  a  portrait 
of  the  king  set  in  a  frame  of  four  hundred  diamonds! 


CHAPTEK  XL. 

IN   SERVICE   AGAIN. 

IT  has  been  said  that  Franklin  forgot  to  be  old.  Verging 
upon  eighty,  he  had  asked  to  be  recalled  from  France,  and  he 
dreamed  of  quiet  old  age  among  his  grandchildren  on  the 
banks  of  the  Schuylkill,  where  so  many  happy  years  of 
his  middle  life  had  been  spent.  He  was  recalled  from  France, 
but,  as  we  have  before  stated,  this  was  an  age  in  America  when 
men  sought  the  councils  of  wisdom  and  experience. 

Pennsylvania  needed  a  President  or  Governor  who  could  lay 
the  foundations  of  early  legislation  with  prudence,  and  she 
turned  to  the  venerable  Franklin  to  fill  the  chair  of  state.  He 
was  nominated  for  the  office  of  President  of  Pennsylvania,  and 
elected,  and  twice  re-elected;  and  we  find  him  now,  over 
eighty  years  of  age,  in  activities  of  young  manhood,  and  bring- 
ing to  the  office  the  largest  experience  of  any  American.' 

He  was  among  the  first  of  most  eminent  Americans  to 
crown  his  life  after  the  period  of  threescore  and  ten  years  with 
the  results  of  the  scholarship  of  usefulness. 

We  have  recently  seen  Gladstone,  Tennyson,  King  William, 

Bismarck,  Von  Moltke,  Whittier,  Holmes,  and  many  other  men 

of  the  enlightened  world,  doing  some  of  their  strongest  and  most 

impressive  work  after  seventy  years  of  age,  and  some  of  these 

20  293 


294:  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

setting  jewels  in  the  crown  of  life  when  past  eighty.  We  have 
seen  Du  Maurier  producing  his  first  great  work  of  fiction  at 
sixty,  and  many  authors  fulfilling  the  hopes  of  years  at  a  like 
age. 

We  have  a  beautiful  pen  picture  of  Franklin  in  these 
several  years,  in  his  youth's  return  when  eighty  years  were  past. 
It  shows  what  is  possible  to  a  life  of  temperance  and  beneficence, 
and  it  is  only  such  a  life  that  can  have  an  Indian  summer,  a 
youth  in  age. 

"  Dr.  Franklin's  house,"  wrote  a  clergyman  who  visited 
him  in  his  old  age,  "  stands  up  a  court,  at  some  distance  from 
the  street.  We  found  him  in  his  garden,  sitting  upon  a  grass- 
plot,  under  a  very  large  mulberry  tree,  with  several  other  gen- 
tlemen and  two  or  three  ladies.  When  Mr.  Gerry  introduced 
me,  he  rose  from  his  chair,  took  me  by  the  hand,  expressed  his 
joy  at  seeing  me,  welcomed  me  to  the  city,  and  begged  me  to 
seat  myself  close  to  him.  His  voice  was  low,  but  his  counte- 
nance open,  frank,  and  pleasing.  I  delivered  to  him  my  let- 
ters. After  he  read  them  he  took  me  again  by  the  hand,  and, 
with  the  usual  compliments,  introduced  me  to  the  other  gen- 
tlemen. 

"  Here  we  entered  into  a  free  conversation,  and  spent  our 
time  most  agreeably  until  it  was  quite  dark.  The  tea  .table  was 
spread  under  the  tree,  and  Mrs.  Bache,  who  is  the  only  daugh- 
ter of  the  doctor  and  lives  with  him,  served  it  out  to  the  com- 
pany. She  had  three  of  her  children  about  her.  They  seemed 
to  be  excessively  fond  of  their  grandpa.  The  doctor  showed 
me  a  curiosity  he  had  just  received,  and  with  which  he  was 
much  pleased.  It  was  a  snake  with  two  heads,  preserved  in 


FRANKLIN'S  LAST  DAYS. 


IN  SERVICE  AGAIN. 


295 


a  large  vial.  It  was  taken  near  the  confluence  of  the  Sclmyl- 
kill  with  the  Delaware,  about  four  miles  from  this  city.  It 
was  about  ten  inches  long,  well  proportioned,  the  heads  perfect, 
and  united  to  the  body  about  one  fourth  of  an  inch  below  the 
extremities  of  the  jaws.  The  snake  was  of  a  dark  brown,  ap- 
proaching to  black,  and  the  back  beautifully  speckled  with 
white.  The  belly  was  rather  checkered  with  a  reddish  color 
and  white.  The  doctor  supposed  it  to  be  full  grown,  which 
I  think  is  probable;  and  he  thinks  it  must  be  a  sui  generis  of 
that  class  of  animals.  He  grounds  his  opinion  of  its  not  being 
an  extraordinary  production,  but  a  distinct  genus,  on  the  per- 
fect form  of  the  snake,  the  probability  of  its  being  of  some  age, 
and  there  having  been  found  a  snake  entirely  similar  (of  which 
the  doctor  has  a  drawing,  which  he  showed  us)  near  Lake 
Champlain  in  the  time  of  the  late  war.  He  mentioned  the 
situation  of  this  snake  tf  it  was  traveling  among  bushes,  and 
one  head  should  choose  to  go  on  one  side  of  the  stem  of  a  bush 
and  the  other  head  should  prefer  the  other  side,  and  neither 
of  the  heads  would  consent  to  come  back  or  give  way  to  the 
other.  He  was  then  going  to  mention  a  humorous  matter  that 
had  that  day  occurred  in  the  convention  in  consequence  of  his 
comparing  the  snake  to  America,  for  he  seemed  to  forget  that 
everything  in  the  convention  was  to  be  kept  a  profound  secret. 
But  this  secrecy  of  convention  matters  was  suggested  to  him, 
which  stopped  him  and  deprived  me  of  the  story  he  was  going 
to  tell. 

"  After  it  was  dark  we  went  into  his  house,  and  he  invited 
me  into  his  library,  which  is  likewise  his  study.  It  is  a  very 
large  chamber  and  high  studded.  The  walls  are  covered  with 


296  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

bookshelves  filled  with  books;  besides,  there  are  four  large  al- 
coves extending  two  thirds  of  the  length  of  the  chamber,  filled 
in  the  same  manner.  I  presume  this  is  the  largest  and  by  far 
the  best  private  library  in  America. 

"  He  seemed  extremely  fond,  through  the  course  of  the  visit, 
of  dwelling  on  philosophical  subjects,  and  particularly  that  of 
natural  history,  while  the  other  gentlemen  were  swallowed  up 
with  politics.  This  was  a  favorable  circumstance  for  me,  for 
almost  the  whole  of  his  conversation  was  addressed  to  me;  and  I 
was  highly  delighted  with  the  extensive  knowledge  he  appeared 
to  have  of  every  subject,  the  brightness  of  his  memory,  and 
the  clearness  and  vivacity  of  all  his  mental  faculties,  notwith- 
standing his  age.  His  manners  are  perfectly  easy,  and  every- 
thing about  him  seems  to  diffuse  an  unrestrained  freedom  and 
happiness.  He  has  an  incessant  vein  of  humor,  accompanied 
with  an  uncommon  vivacity,  which  seems  as  natural  and  in- 
voluntary as  his  breathing.  He  urged  me  to  call  on  him  again, 
but  my  short  stay  would  not  admit.  We  took  our  leave  at  ten, 
and  I  retired  to  my  lodgings." 

The  convention  to  frame  a  Constitution  for  the  United 
States  assembled  at  this  time  in  Philadelphia.  '  Dr.  Franklin 
was  elected  to  bring  his  ripe  statesmanship  into  this  great  work. 

He  was  a  poet  in  old  age.  When  past  eighty  he  fulfilled 
one  of  the  hopes  of  Uncle  Ben.  When  the  Constitution  had 
been  adopted  by  a  majority  of  the  States,  the  event  was  cele- 
brated by  a  grand  festival  in  Philadelphia.  There  were  a  long 
procession  of  the  trades,  an  oration,  the  booming  of  cannon, 
and  the  ringing  of  bells.  Some  twenty  thousand  people  joined 
in  the  festivities.  They  wanted  a  poet  for  the  joyful  occasion. 


IN  SERVICE  AGAIN. 

Poets  were  not  many  in  those  days.  Who  should  appear?  It 
was  Silence  Dogood,  the  Poor  Richard  of  a  generation  gone. 

To  the  draft  of  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States  Benja- 
min Franklin  placed  his  signature,  and  thus  again  honored  his 
Boston  writing-master  of  seventy  years  ago. 

But  he  gave  to  this  august  assembly  an  influence  as  noble 
as  his  signature  to  the  document  that  it  produced.  Franklin 
had  been  skeptical  in  his  youth,  and  a  questioner  of  religious 
teachings  in  other  periods  of  his  life.  Mature  thought  had 
convinced  him  of  the  glory  of  the  Christian  faith,  of  the  doc- 
trine of  immortality  and  the  power  of  prayer.  The  deliber- 
ations in  the  Constitutional  Assembly  were  long,  and  they  were 
sometimes  bitter.  In  the  midst  of  the  debates,  the  divisions  of 
opinion  and  delays,  Dr.  Franklin  arose  one  day — it  was  the  28th 
of  June,  1787 — and  moved 

'''  That  henceforth  prayers,  imploring  the  assistance  of 
Heaven  and  its  blessing  on  our  deliberations,  be  held  in  this  As- 
sembly every  morning  before  we  proceed  to  business;  and  that 
one  or  more  of  the  clergy  of  this  city  be  requested  to  officiate 
in  that  service." 

In  an  address  supporting  this  resolution  he  said:  "I  have 
lived,  sir,  a  long  time,  and  the  longer  I  live  the  more  convincing 
proofs  I  see  of  this  truth:  That  GOD  governs  in  the  affairs  of 
men  !  And  if  a  sparrow  can  not  fall  to  the  ground  without  his 
notice,  is  it  probable  that  an  empire  can  rise  without  his  aid? 
We  have  been  assured,  sir,  in  the  Sacred  Writings,  that  '  except 
the  Lord  build  the  house,  they  labor  in  vain  that  build  it.'  I 
firmly  believe  this;  and  I  also  believe  that  without  his  concur- 
ring aid  we  shall  succeed  in  this  political  building  no  better 


298  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

than  the  building  of  Babel;  we  shall  be  divided  by  our  partial 
local  interests,  our  projects  will  be  confounded,  and  we  our- 
selves shall  become  a  reproach  and  a  byword  down  to  future 
ages.  And,  what  is  worse,  mankind  may  hereafter  from  this 
unfortunate  instance  despair  of  establishing  government  by 
human  wisdom,  and  leave  it  to  chance,  war,  and  conquest." 

To  consummate  the  American  Government  now  only  one 
thing  was  lacking — a  power  to  interpret  the  meaning  of  the 
Constitution,  and  so  to  decide  any  disputes  that  should  arise 
among  the  States. 

In  Mr.  Vernon's  garden,  after  the  controversy  between  the 
fishermen  of  Maryland  and  Virginia,  a  plan  to  settle  such  dis- 
putes was  produced.  It  was  a  high  court  of  final  appeal. 

So  rose  the  Supreme  Court.  And  this  court  to  decide 
questions  of  controversy  arising  among  the  States,  we  may  hope, 
was  the  beginning  of  a  like  body,  a  Supreme  Court  of  the  na- 
tions of  the  world  that  shall  settle  the  questions  in  dispute 
among  nations,  without  an  appeal  to  war  or  the  shedding  of 
human  blood. 

These  were  glorious  times,  and  although  Dr.  Franklin  was 
not  actively  engaged  in  this  last  grand  movement  for  the  gov- 
ernment of  the  people,  he  lived  to  give  his  influence  to  make 
George  "Washington  President,  and  see  the  new  order  of  a 
popular  government  inaugurated.  He  entered  the  doors  of 
that  golden  age  of  liberty,  equality,  and  progress,  when  the  des- 
tinies might  say  to  their  spindles,  "  Thus  go  on  forever! " 


CHAPTER   XLI. 
JANE'S  LAST  VISIT. 

IT  was  midsummer.  Benjamin  Franklin,  of  fourscore 
years,  President  of  Pennsylvania,  had  finished  a  long,  three- 
story  ell  to  his  house  on  Market  Street,  and  in  this  ell  he  had 
caused  to  be  made  a  library  which  filled  his  heart  with  pride. 
He  had  invented  a  long  arm  with  which  to  take  down  books 
from  the  high  shelves  of  this  library— an  invention  which  came 
into  use  in  other  libraries  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  many  libra- 
rians grateful  to  him. 

He  was  overburdened  with  care,  and  suffered  from  chronic 
disease. 

In  his  days  of  pain  he  had  been  comforted  by  letters  from 
Jenny,  now  long  past  seventy  years  of  age.  She  had  written 
to  him  in  regard  to  his  sufferings  such  messages  as  these: 

"  Oh,  that  after  you  have  spent  your  whole  life  in  the 
service  of  the  public,  and  have  attained  so  glorious  a  conclu- 
sion, as  I  thought,  as  would  now  permit  you  to  come  home  and 
spend  (as  you  say)  the  evening  with  your  friends  in  ease  and 
quiet,  that  now  such  a  dreadful  malady  should  attack  you!  My 
heart  is  ready  to  burst  with  grief  at  the  thought.  How  many 
hours  have  I  lain  awake  on  nights  thinking  what  excruciating 


300  TEUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

pains  you  might  then  be  encountering,  while  I,  poor.,  useless, 
and  worthless  worm,  was  permitted  to  be  at  ease!  Oh,  that 
it  was  in  my  power  to  mitigate  or  alleviate  the  anguish  I  know 
you  must  endure!  " 

When  she  heard  of  his  arrival  in  Philadelphia  she  wrote: 

"  I  long  so  much  to  see  you  that  I  should  immediately  seek 
for  some  one  that  would  accompany  me,  but  my  daughter  is 
in  a  poor  state  of  health  and  gone  into  the  country  to  try  to 
get  a  little  better,  and  I  am  in  a  strait  between  two;  but  the 
comfortable  reflection  that  you  are  at  home  among  all  your  dear 
children,  and  no  more  seas  to  cross,  will  be  constantly  pleasing 
to  me  till  I  am  permitted  to  enjoy  the  happiness  of  seeing  and 
conversing  with  you." 

The  tenderness  and  charity  of  Franklin  for  the  many  mem- 
bers of  his  own  family  still  revealed  his  heart.  "  I  tenderly 
love  you,"  he  wrote  to  Jane — Jenny — "  for  the  care  of  our 
father  in  his  sickness." 

One  of  his  sisters,  Mrs.  Dowse,  whose  family  had  died,  in- 
sisted upon  living  alone,  on  account  of  her  love  for  the  place 
that  had  been  her  home.  Many  other  men  would  have  com- 
pelled her  removal,  but  there  is  nothing  more  beautiful  in  all 
Franklin's  letters  than  the  way  that  he  advised  Jenny  how  to 
treat  this  matter.  He  had  been  told  that  this  venerable  woman 
would  have  her  own  way. 

"  As  having  their  own.  way  is  one  of  the  greatest  comforts 
of  life  to  old  people,  I  think  their  friends  should  endeavor  to 
accommodate  them  in  that  as  well  as  anything  else.  When 
they  have  long  lived  in  a  house,  it  becomes  natural  to  them; 
they  are  almost  as  closely  connected  with  it  as  the  tortoise  with 


JANE'S  LAST  VISIT.  301 

his  shell;  they  die  if  you  tear  them  out.  Old  folks  and  old  trees, 
if  you  remove  them,  'tis  ten  to  one  that  you  kill  them,  so  let 
our  good  old  sister  be  no  more  importuned  on  that  head;  we 
are  growing  old  fast  ourselves,  and  shall  expect  the  same  kind 
of  indulgences;  if  we  give  them,  we  shall  have  a  right  to  re- 
ceive them  in  our  turn/' 

Jane  Mecom — the  "  Jenny  "  of  Franklin's  young  life — had 
one  great  desire  as  the  years  went  on:  it  was,  to  meet  her 
brother  once  more  and  to  review  the  past  with  him. 

"  I  will  one  day  go  to  Philadelphia  and  give  him  a  great 
surprise,"  the  woman  used  to  say. 

Let  us  picture  such  a  day. 

Benjamin  Franklin  sat  down  in  his  new  library.  His  books 
had  been  placed  and  his  pictures  hung. 

Among  the  pictures  were  two  that  were  so  choice  that  we 
may  suppose  them  to  be  hung  under  coverings.  One  of  them 
was  the  portrait  of  the  King  of  France  in  its  frame  of  four 
hundred  brilliants,  and  the  other  was  his  own  portrait  with, 
perhaps,  Turgot's  famous  inscription. 

It  was  near  evening  when  he  sat  down  and  asked  to  be  left 
alone. 

He  opened  his  secretary,  and  took  from  it  a  letter  from 
Washington.  It  read: 

"Amid  the  public  gratulations  on  your  safe  return  to 
America  after  a  long  absence,  and  many  eminent  services  you 
have  rendered  it,  for  which  as  a  benefited  person  I  feel  the 
obligation,  permit  an  individual  to  join  the  public  voice  in  ex- 
pressing a  sense  of  them,  and  to  assure  you  that,  as  no  one  en- 
tertains more  respect  for  your  character,  so  no  one  can  salute 


302  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

you  with  more  sincerity  or  with  greater  pleasure  than  I  do  on 
the  occasion." 

He  took  from  his  papers  the  resolution  of  the  Assembly  of 
Pennsylvania  and  began  to  read: 

"  We  are  confident,  sir,  that  we  speak  the  sentiments  of  the 
whole  country  when  we  say  that  your  services  in  the  public 
councils  and  negotiations  have  not  only  merited  the  thanks  of 
the  present  generation,  but  will  be  recorded  in  the  pages  of 
history  to  your  immortal  honor." 

He  dropped  the  paper  on  the  table  beside  the  letter  of  Wash- 
ington and  sank  into  his  armchair,  for  his  pains  were  coming 
upon  him  again. 

He  thought  of  the  past — of  old  Boston,  of  Passy,  of  all  his 
struggles — and  he  wished  that  he  might  feel  again  the  sympa- 
thetic touch  of  the  hand  of  his  sister  who  had  been  so  true  to 
him,  and  who  had  loved  him  so  long  and  well. 

It  was  near  sunset  of  one  of  the  longest  days  of  the  year 
when  he  heard  a  carriage  stop  before  the  door. 

"  I  can  not  see  any  one,"  he  said.  "  I  must  have  rest — I 
must  have  rest." 

There  came  a  mechanical  knock  on  his  door.  He  did  not 
respond. 

A  servant's  voice  said  outside,  "  There  is  a  woman,  master, 
that  asks  to  see  you." 

"  I  can  not  see  any  one,"  answered  the  tortured  old  man. 

"  She  is  an  old  woman." 

"  I  could  not  see  the  queen." 

He  heard  an  echo  of  the  servant's  voice  in  the  hall. 

"  He  says  that  he  could  not  see  the  queen." 


JANE'S  LAST  VISIT.  303 

"  Well,  tell  him  that  I  am  something  more  than  that  to 
him.  He  will  see  me,  or  else  I  will  die  at  his  door." 

There  came  a  tap  on  the  door,  very  gentle. 

"  Who  is  there?  " 

"  It  is  Jane." 

"What  Jane— who?"  » 

"  She  who  folded  the  hands  of  your  father  for  the  last 
time.  Open  the  door.  There  can  be  no  No  to  me." 

The  door  opened. 

"  Jenny! " 

"  Ben — let  all  titles  pass  now — I  have  come  to  give  you  a 
surprise." 

The  old  woman  sank  into  a  chair. 

"  I  have  come  to  visit  you  for  the  last  time,"  she  said,  "  and 
to  number  with  you  our  mercies  of  life.  Let  me  rest  before 
I  talk.  You  are  in  pain." 

"  Jenny,  my  pains  have  gone.  I  had  sat  down  in  agony 
in  this  new  room;  my  head  ached  as  well  as  my  body.  I  am 
happy  now  that  you  have  come." 

She  moved  her  chair  to  his,  and  he  took  her  hand  again, 
saying: 

"  My  sister's  hand — your  hand,  Jenny,  as  when  we  were 
children.  They  are  gone,  all  gone." 

He  looked  in  her  face. 

"  Jenny,  your  hair  is  gray  now,  and  mine  is  white.  I  have 
been  reading  over  again  this  letter  from  Washington."  t 

"Read  it  to  me  while  I  rest,  then  we  will  talk  of  old 
times." 

He  read  the  letter. 

ft 


304  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

"  Here  are  the  resolutions  of  the  Assembly  of  Pennsylvania 
passed  on  my  return." 

"  Eead  them  to  me,  brother,  for  I  must  rest  longer  before 
we  talk  of  old  times." 

He  read  the  resolutions. 

"  Jenhy,  let  me  uncover  this.  It  is  not  vanity  that  makes 
me  wish  to  do  it  now,  but  on  account  of  what  I  wish  to  say." 

He  uncovered  the  portrait  of  the  French  king.  The  last 
light  of  the  sun  fell  into  the  room  and  upon  the  frame,  causing 
the  four  hundred  diamonds  to  gleam. 

"  That  was  presented  to  me  by  the  court  of  France." 

"  I  never  saw  anything  so  splendid,  brother.  But  what  is 
the  other  picture  under  the  cover?  " 

He  drew  away  the  screen. 

"  It  is  my  portrait,  Jenny." 

"  But,  brother,  what  are  those  words  written  under  it  ?  " 

Franklin  read,  "  Eripuit  ccelo  fulmen,  sceptrumque  tyran- 
nis" 

"Brother,  what  does  that  mean?" 

"  '  He  snatched  the  thunderbolts  from  heaven,  and  the  scep- 
ter from  the  tyrants.' ': 

"  Who,  brother?  " 

"  Jenny,  let  us  talk  of  these  things  no  longer.  Do  you  re- 
member Uncle  Ben?" 

"  He  has  never  died.  He  lives  in  you.  You  have  lived 
out  his  life.  You  have  lived,  Ben,  and  I  have  loved.  Brother, 
you  have  done  well.  He  who  does  his  best  does  well." 

"  Jenny,  can  you  repeat  what  Uncle  Ben  said  under  the 


JANE'S  LAST  VISIT.  395 

tree  on  the  showery  day  when  the  birds  sang,  nearly  seventy 
years  ago?" 

"  Let  us  repeat  it  together,  brother.  You  have  made  that 
lesson  your  life." 

"  '  More  than  wealth,  more  than  fame,  or  any  other  thing, 
is  the  power  of  the  human  heart,  and  it  is  developed  by  seeking 
the  good  of  others.  Live  for  the  things  that  live.'  " 

"  Jenny,  my  own  true  sister,  I  have  something  else  to  show 
you— something  that  I  "value  more  than  a  present  from  a 
throne.  I  have  here  some  *  pamphlets,'  into  which  Uncle  Ben 
put  his  soul  before  he  sought  to  impress  the  same  thoughts  upon 
me.  I  want  you  to  have  them  now,  to  read  them,  and  give 
them  to  his  family." 

He  went  to  his  secretary  and  took  from  it  the  pamphlets. 

"  Here  are  the  thoughts  of  a  man  who  told  me  when  I  was 
a  poor  boy  in  Boston  town  that  I  had  a  chance  in  the  world. 

"  He  told  me  not  to  be  laughed  down. 

"  He  told  me  that  diligence  was  power. 

"  He  told  me  that  I  would  be  helped  in  helping  others. 

"  He  told  me  that  justice  was  the  need  of  mankind. 

"  He  told  me  that  to  have  influence  with  men  I  must  over- 
come my  conscious  defects. 

"  He  was  poor,  he  was  empty-handed,  but  Heaven  gave  to 
him  the  true  vision  of  life.  He  committed  that  vision  to  me, 
and  what  he  wished  to  be  I  have  struggled  to  fulfill.  These 
pamphlets  are  the  picture  of  his  mind,  and  that  picture  deserves 
to  be  hung  in  diamonds,  and  is  more  to  me  than  the  portrait 
of  the  king.  Blessed  be  the  memory  of  that  old  man,  who 
taught  my  young  life  virtue,  and  gave  it  hope! 


306  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

"Jenny,  I  have  tried  to  live  well." 

"  You  have  been  '  Silence  Dogood,'  the  idea  that  Uncle 
Benjamin  printed  on  your  mind." 

"  Jenny,  I  have  heard  the  church  bells — Uncle  Tom's 
bells — of  Nottingham  ring.  I  found  Uncle  Benjamin's  let- 
ters there — those  that  he  wrote  to  his  old  friends  from 
America.  He  lovingly  described  you  and  me.  What  days 
those  were!  Father  was  true  to  his  home  when  he  invited 
Uncle  Benjamin  to  America.  You 'have  been  true  to  your 
home,  and  my  heart  has  been,  through  your  hands.  Jenny, 
I  have  given  my  house  in  Boston  to  you." 

The  old  woman  wept. 

"  Jenny,  you  have  loved,  and  your  heart  has  been  better 
than  mine.  Let  me  call  the  servants.  These  are  hours  when 
the  soul  is  full — my  soul  is  full.  I  ask  for  nothing  more." 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

FOB  THE   LAST  TIME. 

SILENCE  DOGOOD  is  an  old  man  now — a  very  old  man. 
He  looks  back  on  the  spring  and  summer  and  autumn  of  life — 
it  is  now  the  time  of  the  snow.  But  there  are  sunny  days  in 
winter,  and  they  came  to  him,  though  on  the  trees  hang  the 
snow,  and  the  nights  are  long  and  painful. 

What  has  Silence  Dogood  done  in  his  eighty  years  now 
ending  in  calm,  in  dreams  and  silence?  Let  us  look  back 
orer  the  past  with  him  now.  What  a  review  it  is! 

He  had  founded  literary  and  scientific  clubs  in  his  early 
life  that  had  made  not  idlers,  but  men.  He  had  founded  the 
first  subscription  library  in  America.  It  had  multiplied,  and 
in  its  many  branches  had  become  a  national  influence. 

He  made  a  stove  that  was  a  family  luxury,  and  showed  how 
it  might  be  enjoyed  without  a  smoky  chimney. 

He  had  shown  that  lightning  was  electricity  and  could  be 
controlled,  and  had  disarmed  the  thunder  cloud  by  a  simple 
rod. 

He  had  founded  the  High  School  in  Pennsylvania. 

He  had  encouraged  the  raising  of  silk. 

He  had  helped  found  the  Philadelphia  Hospital,  and  had 
founded  the  American  Philosophical  Society. 

307 


308  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

He  had  promoted  the  scheme  for  uniting  the  colonies. 

He  had  signed  the  Declaration  of  Independence,  the  Treaty 
of  the  Alliance  with  France,  the  Treaty  of  Peace  between 
England  and  the  United  States,  and  the  draft  of  the  Consti- 
tution of  the  United  States. 

We  may  truly  say,  "  Well  done,  thou  good  and  faithful  serv- 
ant." But  there  remains  yet  one  paper  to  sign.  It  is  his  will. 
The  influence  of  that  paper  is  felt  in  the  world  to-day,  hut  no- 
where more  than  in  Boston.  In  this  will  he  made  provision  for 
lending  the  interest  of  great  bequests  to  poor  citizens,  he  left 
the  fund  for  the  Franklin  Silver  Medal  in  Boston  schools,  and 
he  sought  to  be  a  benefactor  to  the  children  of  Boston  after  a 
hundred  years.  This  will  has  the  following  words: 

"  If  this  plan  is  executed,  and  succeeds  as  projected  without 
interruption  for  one  hundred  years,  the  sum  will  then  be  one 
hundred  and  thirty-one  thousand  pounds,  of  which  I  would 
have  the  managers  of  the  donation  to  the  town  of  Boston  then 
lay  out,  at  their  discretion,  one  hundred  thousand  pounds  in 

* 

public  works,  which  may  be  judged  of  most  general  utility  to 
the  inhabitants,  such  as  fortifications,  bridges,  aqueducts,  pub- 
lic buildings,  baths,  pavements,  or  whatever  may  make  living 
in  the  town  more  convenient  to  its  people,  and  render  it  more 
agreeable  to  strangers  resorting  thither  for  health  or  a  tem- 
porary residence.  The  remaining  thirty-one  thousand  pounds 
I  would  have  continued  to  be  let  out  on  interest,  in  the  manner 
above  directed,  for  another  hundred  years,  as  I  hope  it  will  have 
been  found  that  the  institution  has  had  a  good  effect  on  the 
conduct  of  youth,  and  been  of  service  to  many  worthy  charac- 
ters and  useful  citizens.  At  the  end  of  this  second  term,  if 


FOR  THE  LAST  TIME.  399 

no  unfortunate  accident  has  prevented  the  operation,  the  sum 
will  be  four  millions  and  sixty-one  thousand  pounds  sterling; 
of  which  I  leave  one  million  sixty-one  thousand  pounds  to  the 
disposition  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  town  of  Boston,  and  three 
millions  to  the  disposition  of  the  government  of  the  State,  not 
presuming  to  carry  my  views  farther." 

He  put  his  signature  to  this  last  paper,  and  for  the  last  time 
did  honor  to  his  old  writing-master,  George  Brownell. 

He  died  looking  upon  a  picture  of  Christ,  and  he  was  buried 
amid  almost  unexampled  honors,  France  joining  with  the 
United  States  in  his  eulogies. 

But  in  a  high  sense  he  lives.  There  is  one  boy  who  has 
never  ceased  to  attend  the  Boston  Latin  School,  and  will  not 
for  generations  to  come.  It  is  Silence  Dogood. 

Virtue  to  virtue,  intelligence  to  intelligence,  benevolence  to 
benevolence,  faith  to  faith!  So  ascend  the  feet  of  worth  on 
the  ladder  of  life;  so  reaches  a  high  purpose  a  place  beyond 
the  derision  of  the  world. 

The  bells  of  the  nation  tolled  when 'he  died.  "He  was 
true  to  his  country!  "  said  all  men;  but  aged  Jenny,  "  He  was 
true  to  his  home!  " 

The  influence  of  Uncle  Benjamin  in  his  godson  had  lived, 

but  it  was  not  ended. 

On  September  17th,  in  the  year  1856,  the  city  of  Boston 
stopped  business  to  render  homage  to  the  memory  of  her  great- 
est citizen.  On  that  day  was  inaugurated  the  Franklin  statue, 
by  Horatio  Greenough,  that  now  stands  in  front  of  the  City 
Hall.  On  that  day  the  graves  of  Josiah  and  Abiah  Franklin  in 
21 


310  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

the  Granary  burying  ground  were  covered  with  evergreens  and 

^> 
flowers,,  and  we  hope  that  the  grave  of  Uncle  Ben,  the  poet, 

which  is  near  by,  was  not  forgotten. 

The  procession  was  one  of  the  grandest  that  the  city  has 
ever  seen,  for  it  was  not  only  great  in  numbers,  but  it  blos- 
somed with  heart  tributes.  The  trades  were  in  it,  the  military, 
the  schools.  Orators,  poets,  artists,  all  contributed  to  the  fes- 
tival. Boston  was  covered  with  flags,  and  her  halls  were  filled 
with  joyous  assemblages. 

There  was  one  house  that  was  ornamented  by  a  motto  from 
Franklin's  private  liturgy.  It  was: 

"  Help  me  to  be  faithful  to  my  country, 
Careful  for  its  good, 
Valiant  for  its  defense, 
And  obedient  to  its  laws." 

Conspicuous  among  the  mottoes  were: 

"  Time  is  money,"  "  Knowledge  is  power,"  "  Worth  makes 
the  man,"  and,  queerly  enough,  "Don't  give  too  much  for  the 
whistle"  the  teaching  of  an  experience  one  hundred  and  fifty 
years  before. 

The  bells  rang,  and  the  influence  of  the  old  man  who  slept 
beside  the  flower-crowned  grave  of  Josiah  Franklin  and  Abiah 
Franklin  was  in  the  joy;  the  chimes  of  Nottingham  were  ring- 
ing again.  Good  influences  are  seeds  of  immortal  flowers,  and 
no  life  fails  that  inspires  another. 

Franklin  Park,  Boston,  which  will  be  one  of  the  most 
beautiful  in  the  world,  will  carry  forward,  in  its  forests,  foun- 
tains, and  flowers,  these  influences  for  generations  to  come. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

A    LESSON   AFTER   SCHOOL. 

IT  was  the  day  of  the  award  of  the  Franklin  medals  in  the 
old  Boston  Latin  School,  a  day  in  June,  and  such  a  one  as 
James  Russell  Lowell  so  picturesquely  describes.  We  say 
"  old  "  Boston  Latin  School,  not  meaning  old  Boston  in  Eng- 
land, but  such  an  association  would  not  be  an  untrue  one;  for 
the  Boston  Latin  School  in  Boston,  Massachusetts,  which  was 
founded  under  the  influence  of  Governor  John  Winthrop  and 
Rev.  John  Cotton,  and  that  numbers  five  signers  of  the  Dec- 
laration of  Independence  among  its  pupils,  was  really  begun  in 
Boston,  England,  in  1554,  or  in  the  days  of  Queen  Mary.  It 
has  the  most  remarkable  history  of  any  school  in  America;  it 
has  been  the  Harrow  of  Harvard,  and  for  five  or  more  gener- 
ations has  sent  into  life  many  men  whose  character  has  shed 
luster  upon  their  times. 

To  gain  the  Franklin  medal  is  the  high  aim  of  the  Boston 
schoolboy.  It  is  to  associate  one's  name  with  a  long  line  of 
illustrious  men,  among  them  John  Collins  Warren,  Wendell 
Phillips,  Charles  Sumner,  Phillips  Brooks,  S.  F.  Smith,  and 
many  others. 

But  one  of  the  boys  who  had  won  the  Franklin  medal  to- 

311 


312  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

day  had  done  so  amid  the  ridicule  of  his  people  at  home  and 
after  very  hard  work.  Boston  Latin  boys  are  too  well  bred  to 
laugh  at  the  humble  gifts  of  any  one,  but  those  of  this  period 
could  hardly  have  failed  to  notice  the  natural  stupidity  and 
the  strong,  silent  purpose  and  will  of  this  lad.  His  name  we 
will  call  Elwell — Frank  Elwell.  He  came  from  a  humble 
home,  where  he  was  not  uncommonly  taunted  as  being  the 
"  fool  of  the  family." 

He  first  attracted  attention  at  this  school  of  brilliant  pu- 
pils by  a  bold  question  which  he  asked  his  teacher  one  day  that 
commanded  instant  respect.  After  hard  study  he  had  made 
a  very  poor  recitation.  He  was  reproved  by  his  teacher,  who 
was  a  submaster,  but  a  kindly,  sensitive,  and  sympathetic  man. 
He  lifted  his  eyes  and  looked  into  the  teacher's  face,  and  said: 

"  Why  do  you  reprove  me?     I  am  doing  the  best  I  can,  sir." 

The  teacher  knew  the  words  to  be  true.  The  boys  that 
heard  the  question  turned  with  a  kind  of  chivalrous  feeling 
toward  their  dull  companion,  who  was  doing  his  best  against 
poverty,  limited  gifts,  and  many  disadvantages  in  life.  The 
old  school  of  Charles  Sumner,  Wendell  Phillips,  and  Phillips 
Brooks  is  not  wanting  in  true  sympathy  with  any  manly  strug- 
gle in  life. 

The  teacher  answered:  "Master  Elwell,  I  have  done  wrong 
in  reproving  you.  He  does  well  who  does  his  best.  You  are 
doing  well." 

Frank  Elwell  won  the  Franklin  medal  by  doing  his  best. 
On  the  evening  after  his  graduation  he  stood  before  his  teacher 
and  asked: 

"  Master  Lowell "  (for  so  we  will  call  the  teacher,  and  use 


A  LESSON  AFTER  SCHOOL.  313 

the  old  term  in  the  vocative  case),  "  Master  Lowell,  did  you 
ever  know  any  boy  to  struggle  against  defects  like  mine?" 

"  Yes,  my  boy,  I  have." 

"  Did  he  succeed  in  life?  " 

"  He  did.  He  became  the  first  citizen  of  Boston,  and  is 
so  regarded  still." 

"Who  was  it,  sir?" 

"  Look  at  your  medal.  It  was  Benjamin  Franklin  him- 
self." 

Keader,  Frank  Elwell  perhaps  is  you. 

"  More  than  wealth,  more  than  fame,  more  than  any  other 
thing,  is  the  power  of  the  human  heart."  Live  for  influences — 
live  for  the  things  that  live,  and  let  the  best  influences  of  the 
Peter  Folgers  and  Benjamin  Franklins  of  your  family  live  on 
in  you,  and  live  after  you.  You  will  do  well  in  life  and  will 
succeed  in  life  if  you  do  your  best;  and  if  your  ideal  seems  to 
fail  in  you,  it  will  not  fail  in  the  world,  in  whose  harvest  field 
no  good  intention  perishes. 

Be  true  to  those  who  have  faith  in  you,  and  to  their  faith 
in  you,  and  help  others  by  believing  in  the  best  that  is  in  them. 
Those  who  have  the  most  faith  in  you  are  your  truest  friends. 
An  Uncle  Benjamin  and  a  Jenny  are  among  the  choicest  char- 
acters that  can  enter  the  doors  of  life,  and  we  will  see  it  so 
at  the  end. 

Do  good,  and  you  can  not  fail. 

"  Do  them  thy  work ;  it  shall  succeed 

In  thine  or  in  another's  day, 
And  if  denied  the  visitor's  meed, 
Thou  shalt  not  miss  the  toiler's  pay." 


APPENDIX. 

FRANKLINT'S  FAMOUS  PROVERB  STORY  OF  THE  OLD  AUCTIONEER. 

"  FRIEXDS,"  said  the  old  auctioneer,  "  the  taxes  are  indeed 
very  heavy.  If  those  laid  on  by  the  government  were  the  only 
ones  we  had  to  pay,  we  might  more  easily  discharge  them;  but 
we  have  many  others,  and  much  more  grievous  to  some  of  us. 
We  are  taxed  twice  as  much  by  our  idleness,  three  times  as 
much  by  our  pride,  and  four  times  as  much  by  our  folly;  and 
from  these  taxes  the  commissioners  can  not  ease  or  deliver  us 
by  allowing  an  abatement.  However,  let  us  hearken  to  good 
advice,  and  something  may  be  done  for  us.  God  helps  them 
that  help  themselves,  as  Poor  Richard  says. 

"  I.  It  would  be  thought  a  hard  government  that  would  tax 
its  people  one  tenth  part  of  their  time  to  be  employed  in  its 
service;  but  idleness  taxes  many  of  us  much  more;  sloth,  by 
bringing  on  diseases,  absolutely  shortens  life.  Sloth,  like  rust, 
consumes  faster  than  labor  wears;  while  the  used  key  is  always 
bright,  as  Poor  Richard  says.  But  dost  thou  love  life?  then  do 
not  squander  time,  for  that  is  the  stuff  life  is  made  of,  as  Poor 
Richard  says.  How  much  more  than  is  necessary  do  we  spend 
in  sleep,  forgetting  that  The  sleeping  fox  catches  no  poultry, 
and  that  There  will  be  sleeping  enough  in  the  grave?  as  Poor 
Richard  says. 

314 


APPENDIX. 


315 


"  If  time  be  of  all  things  the  most  precious,  wasting  time 
must  be,  as  Poor  Richard  says,  the  greatest  prodigality,  since, 
as  he  elsewhere  tells  us,  Lost  time  is  never  found  again,  and  what 
we  call  time  enough  always  proves  little  enough.  Let  us,  then, 
be  up  and  doing,  and  doing  to  the  purpose;  so  by  diligence 
shall  we  do  more  with  less  perplexity.  Sloth  makes  all  things 
difficult,  but  industry  all  ease;  and  He  that  riseth  late  must 
trot  all  day,  and  shall  scarce  overtake  his  business  at  night; 
while  Laziness  travels  so  slowly  that  Poverty  soon  overtakes 
him.  Drive  thy  business,  let  not  that  drive  thee;  and,  Early 
to  bed  and  early  to  rise  makes  a  man  healthy,  wealthy,  and 
wise,  as  Poor  Richard  says. 

"  So,  what  signifies  wishing  and  hoping  for  better  times? 
We  make  these  times  better  if  we  bestir  ourselves.  Industry 
need  not  wish,  and  he  that  lives  upon  hopes  will  die  fasting. 
There  are  no  gains  without  pains;  then  help,  hands,  for  I  have 
no  lands;  or,  if  I  have,  they  are  smartly  taxed.  He  that  hath 
a  trade  hath  an  estate;  and  he  that  hath  a  calling  hath  an  office 
of  profit  and  honor,  as  Poor  Richard  says;  but  then  the  trade 
must  be  worked  at,  and  the  calling  followed,  or  neither  the 
estate  nor  the  office  will  enable  us  to  pay  our  taxes.  If  we  are 
industrious  we  shall  never  starve;  for,  At  the  workingman's 
house  Hunger  looks  in  but  dares  not  enter;  for,  Industry  pays 
debts,  while  despair  increases  them.  What  though  you  have  no 
treasure,  nor  has  any  rich  relation  left  you  a  legacy;  Diligence  is 
the  mother  of  good  luck,  and  God  gives  all  things  to  industry. 
Then  plow  deep  while  sluggards  sleep,  and  you  shall  have  corn 
to  sell  and  to  keep.  Work  while  it  is  called  to-day,  for  you 
know  not  how  much  you  may  be  hindered  to-morrow.  One 


316  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

to-day  is  worth  two  to-morrows,  as  Poor  Richard  says;  and 
further,  Never  leave  that  till  to-morrow  which  you  can  do  to- 
day. If  you  were  a  servant,  would  you  not  be  ashamed  that 
a  good  master  should  catch  you  idle?  Are  you,  then,  your  own 
master?  Be  ashamed  to  catch  yourself  idle,  when  there  is  so 
much  to  be  done  for  yourself,  your  family,  your  country,  your 
king.  Handle  your  tools  without  mittens;  remember  that  The 
cat  in  gloves  catches  no  mice,  as  Poor  Eichard  says.  It  is  true 
there  is  much  to  be  done,  and  perhaps  you  are  weak-handed; 
but  stick  to  it  steadily,  and  you  will  see  great  effects;  for, 
Constant  dropping  wears  away  stones,  and  By  diligence  and 
patience  the  mouse  ate  in  two  the  cable;  and  Little  strokes 
fell  great  oaks. 

"  Methinks  I  hear  some  of  you  say,  Must  a  man  afford 
himself  no  leisure?  I  will  tell  thee,  my  friend,  what  Poor 
Eichard  says:  Employ  thy  time  well,  if  thou  meanest  to  gain 
leisure;  and  since  thou  art  not  sure  of  a  minute,  throw  not  away 
an  hour.  Leisure  is  time  for  doing  something  useful;  this 
leisure  the  diligent  man  will  obtain,  but  the  lazy  man  never; 
for  A  life  of  leisure  and  a  life  of  laziness  are  two  things.  Many, 
without  labor,  would  live  by  their  wits  only,  but  they  break 
for  want  of  stock;  whereas,  industry  gives  comfort,  and  plenty, 
and  respect.  Fly  pleasures,  and  they  will  follow  you.  The 
diligent  spinner  has  a  large  shift;  and  now  I  have  a  sheep  and 
a  cow,  every  one  bids  me  good-morrow. 

"  II.  But  with  our  industry  we  must  likewise  be  steady  and 
careful,  and  oversee  our  own  affairs  with  our  own  eyes,  and  not 
trust  too  much  to  others;  for,  as  Poor  Eichard  says: 


APPENDIX. 

"  T  never  saw  an  oft-removed  tree, 
Nor  yet  an  oft-removed  family, 
That  throve  so  well  as  those  that  settled  be." 

And  again,  Three  removes  are  as  bad  as  a  fire;  and  again,  Keep 
thy  shop,  and  thy  shop  will  keep  thee;  and  again,  If  you  would 
have  your  business,  go;  if  not,  send.  And  again, 

"  He  that  by  the  plow  would  thrive, 
Himself  must  either  hold  or  drive." 

And  again,  The  eye  of  the  master  will  do  more  work  than  both 
his  hands;  and  again,  Want  of  care  does  us  more  damage  than 
want  of  knowledge;  and  again,  Not  to  oversee  workmen  is  to 
leave  them  your  purse  open.  Trusting  too  much  to  others' 
care  is  the  ruin  of  many;  for,  In  the  affairs  of  this  world  men 
are  saved  not  by  faith  but  by  the  want  of  it;  but  a  man's  own 
care  is  profitable,  for,  If  you  would  have  a  faithful  servant,  and 
one  that  you  like,  serve  yourself.  A  little  neglect  may  breed 
great  mischief:  for  want  of  a  nail  the  shoe  was  lost;  for  want  of 
a  shoe  the  horse  was  lost;  and  for  want  of  a  horse  the  rider  was 
lost,  being  overtaken  and  slain  by  the  enemy — all  for  want  of 
a  little  care  about  a  horseshoe  nail. 

"  III.  So  much  for  industry,  my  friends,  and  attention  to 
one's  own  business;  but  to  these  we  must  add  frugality,  if  we 
would  make  our  industry  more  certainly  successful.  A  man 
may,  if  he  knows  not  how  to  save  as  he  gets,  keep  his  nose  all 
his  life  to  the  grindstone,  and  die  not  worth  a  groat  at  last.  A 
fat  kitchen  makes  a  lean  will;  and 

"  Many  estates  are  spent  in  the  getting, 

Since  women  forsook  spinning  and  knitting. 
And  men  for  punch  forsook  hewing  and  splitting. 
If  you  would  be  wealthy,  think  of  saving  as  well  as  of  getting." 


318  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

The  Indies  have  not  made  Spain  rich,  because  her  outgoes  are 
greater  than  her  incomes. 

"  Away,  then,  with  your  expensive  follies,  and  you  will  not 
then  have  so  much  cause  to  complain  of  hard  times,  heavy 
taxes,  and  chargeable  families;  for 

"  Women  and  wine,  game  and  deceit, 
Make  the  wealth  small  and  the  want  great." 

And,  further,  What  maintains  one  vice  would  bring  up  two  chil- 
dren. You  may  think,  perhaps,  that  a  little  tea  or  a  little 
punch  now  and  then,  diet  a  little  more  costly,  clothes  a  little 
finer,  and  a  little  entertainment  now  and  then,  can  be  no  great 
matter;  but  remember,  Many  a  little  makes  a  mickle.  Beware 
of  little  expenses;  A  small  leak  will  sink  a  great  ship,  as  Poor 
Eichard  says;  and  again,  Who  dainties  love  shall  beggars  prove; 
and,  moreover,  Fools  make  feasts  and  wise  men  eat  them. 

"  Here  you  are  all  got  together  at  this  sale  of  fineries  and 
knickknacks.  You  call  them  goods;  but  if  you  do  not  take 
care,  they  will  prove  evils  to  some  of  you.  You  expect  they  will 
be  sold  cheap,  and  perhaps  they  may  for  less  than  they  cost; 
but  if  you  have  no  occasion  for  them,  they  must  be  dear  to  you. 
Remember  what  Poor  Richard  says:  Buy  what  thou  hast  no 
need  of,  and  ere  long  thou  shalt  sell  thy  necessities.  And 
again,  At  a  great  pennyworth  pause  awhile.  He  means  that 
perhaps  the  cheapness  is  apparent  only,  and  not  real;  or  the 
bargain,  by  straitening  thee  in  thy  business,  may  do  thee 
more  harm  than  good;  for  in  another  place  he  says,  Many 
have  been  ruined  by  buying  good  pennyworths.  Again,  It  is 
foolish  to  lay  out  money  in  a  purchase  of  repentance;  and  yet 
this  folly  is  practiced  every  day  at  auctions  for  want  of  mind- 


APPENDIX.  319 

ing  the  almanac.  Many,  for  the  sake  of  finery  on  the  back, 
have  gone  with  a  hungry  belly  and  half  starved  their  families. 
Silks  and  satins,  scarlet  and  velvets,  put  out  the  kitchen  fire, 
as  Poor  Eichard  says. 

"  These  are  not  the  necessaries  of  life;  they  can  scarcely 
be  called  the  conveniences;  and  yet,  only  because  they  look 
pretty,  how  many  want  to  have  them!  By  these,  and  other 
extravagances,  the  genteel  are  reduced  to  poverty,  and  forced 
to  borrow  of  those  whom  they  formerly  despised,  but  who 
through  industry  and  frugality  have  maintained  their  standing; 
in  which  case  it  appears  plainly  that  A  plowman  on  his  legs  is 
higher  than  a  gentleman  on  his  knees,  as  Poor  Eichard  says. 
Perhaps  they  have  a  small  estate  left  them  which  they  knew 
not  the  getting  of;  they  think,  It  is  day,  and  it  never  will  be 
night;  that  a  little  to  be  spent  out  of  so  much  is  not  worth 
minding;  but  Always  taking  out  of  the  meal-tub,  and  never 
putting  in,  soon  comes  to  the  bottom,  as  Poor  Eichard  says; 
and  then,  When  the  well  is  dry,  they  know  the  worth  of  water. 
But  this  they  might  have  known  before,  if  they  had  taken  his 
advice.  If  you  would  know  the  value  of  money,  go  and  try 
to  borrow  some;  for,  He  that  goes  a-borrowing  goes  a-sorrow- 
ing,  as  Poor  Eichard  says;  and,  indeed,  so  does  he  that  lends 
to  such  people,  when  he  goes  to  get  it  again.  Poor  Dick  further 
advises,  and  says: 

"  Fond  pride  of  dress  is  sure  a  very  curse ; 
Ere  fancy  you  consult,  consult  your  purse." 

And  again,  Pride  is  as  loud  a  beggar  as  Want,  and  a  great  deal 
more  saucy.  When  you  have  bought  one  fine  thing,  you  must 
buy  ten  more,  that  your  appearance  may  be  all  of  a  piece;  but 


320  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

Poor  Dick  says,  It  is  easier  to  suppress  the  first  desire  than  to 
satisfy  all  that  follow  it.  And  it  is  as  truly  folly  for  the  poor 
to  ape  the  rich,  as  for  the  frog  to  swell  in  order  to  equal  the  ox. 

"  Vessels  large  may  venture  more, 
But  little  boats  should  keep  near  shore." 

It  is,  however,  a  folly  soon  punished;  for,  as  Poor  Richard  says, 
Pride  that  dines  on  vanity,  sups  on  contempt.  Pride  break- 
fasted with  Plent)r,  dined  with  Poverty,  and  supped  with  In- 
famy. And,  after  all,  of  what  use  is  this  pride  of  appearance, 
for  which  so  much  is  risked,  so  much  is  suffered?  It  can  not 
promote  health,  nor  ease  p^in;  it  makes  no  increase  of  merit 
in  the  person;  it  creates  envy;  it  hastens  misfortune. 

"  But  what  madness  must  it  be  to  run  in  debt  for  these  su- 
perfluities! We  are  offered  by  the  terms  of  this  sale  six 
months'  credit;  and  that,  perhaps,  has  induced  some  of  us  to 
attend  it,  because  we  can  not  spare  the  ready  money,  and  hope 
now  to  be  fine  without  it.  But,  ah!  think  what  you  do  when 
you  run  in  debt:  you  give  to  another  power  over  your  liberty. 
If  you  can  not  pay  at  the  time,  you  will  be  ashamed  to  see  your 
creditor;  you  will  be  in  fear  when  you  speak  to  him;  you  will 
make  poor,  pitiful,  sneaking  excuses,  and,  by  degrees,  come  to 
lose  your  veracity,  and  sink  into  base,  downright  lying;  for,  The 
second  vice  is  lying,  the  first  is  running  in  debt,  as  Poor  Rich- 
ard says;  and  again,  to  the  same  purpose,  Lying  rides  upon 
Debt's  back;  whereas,  a  free-born  Englishman  ought  not  to  be 
ashamed  nor  afraid  to  see  or  speak  to  any  man  living.  But 
poverty  often  deprives  a  man  of  all  spirit  and  virtue.  It  is 
hard  for  an  empty  bag  to  stand  upright. 

"  What  would  you  think  of  that  prince,  or  of  that  govern- 


APPENDIX.  321 

ment,  who  should  issue  an  edict  forbidding  you  to  dress  like 
a  gentleman  or  gentlewoman  on  pain  of  imprisonment  or  servi- 
tude? Would  you  not  say  that  you  were  free,  have  a  right  to 
dress  as  you  please,  and  that  such  an  edict  would  be  a  breach 
of  your  privileges,  and  such  a  government  tyrannical?  And 
yet  you  are  about  to  put  yourself  under  such  tyranny  when 
you  run  in  debt  for  such  dress.  Your  creditor  has  authority, 
at  his  pleasure,  to  deprive  you  of  your  liberty,  by  confining  you 
in  jail  till  you  shall  be  able  to  pay  him.  When  you  have  got 
your  bargain  you  may  perhaps  think  little  of  payment;  but, 
as  Poor  Richard  says,  Creditors  have  better  memories  than 
debtors;  creditors  are  a  superstitious  sect,  great  observers 
of  set  days  and  times.  The  day  comes  round  before  you  are 
aware,  and  the  demand  is  made  before  you  are  prepared  to 
satisfy  it;  or,  if  you  bear  your  debt  in  mind,  the  term,  which 
at  first  seemed  so  long,  will,  as  it  lessens,  appear  extremely 
short.  Time  will  seem  to  have  added  wings  to  his  heels  as  well 
as  his  shoulders.  Those  have  a  short  Lent  who  owe  money 
to  be  paid  at  Easter.  At  present,  perhaps,  you  may  think 
yourselves  in  thriving  circumstances,  and  that  you  can  bear  a 
little  extravagance  without  injury;  but 

"  For  age  and  want  save  while  you  may ; 
No  morning  sun  lasts  a  whole  day." 

Gain  may  be  temporary  and  uncertain,  but  ever,  while  you  live, 
expense  is  constant  and  certain;  and  It  is  easier  to  build  two 
chimneys  than  to  keep  one  in  fuel,  as  Poor  Kichard  says;  so, 
Rather  go  to  bed  supperless  than  rise  in  debt. 

"  Get  what  you  can,  and  what  you  get,  hold ; 
'Tis  the  stone  that  will  turn  all  your  lead  into  gold." 


322  TRUE  TO  HIS  HOME. 

And  when  you  have  got  the  philosopher's  stone,  surely  you 
will  no  longer  complain  of  had  times  or  the  difficulty  of  pay- 
ing taxes. 

"  IV.  This  doctrine,  my  friends,  is  reason  and  wisdom;  hut, 
after  all,  do  not  depend  too  much  upon  your  own  industry  and 
frugality  and  prudence,  though  excellent  things;  for  they  may 
all  be  blasted,  without  the  blessing  of  Heaven;  and,  therefore, 
ask  that  blessing  humbly,  and  be  not  uncharitable  to  those  that 
at  present  seem  to  want  it,  but  comfort  and  help  them.  Re- 
member, Job  suffered,  and  was  afterward  prosperous. 

"And  now,  to  conclude,  Experience  keeps  a  dear  school, 
but  fools  will  learn  in  no  other,  as  Poor  Eichard  says,  and  scarce 
in  that;  for,  it  is  true,  we  may  give  advice,  but  we  can  not  give 
conduct.  However,  remember  this:  They  that  will  not  be 
counseled  can  not  be  helped;  and  further,  that,  If  you  will 
not  hear  Eeason,  she  will  surely  rap  your  knuckles,  as  Poor 
Richard  says." 


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TSING    TOM   AND    THE    RUNAWAYS.      By 
J^±.    Louis  PENDLETON.    The  experiences  of  two  boys  in  the  forests 
of  Georgia.     With  6  Illustrations  by  E.  W.  KEMBLE.     i2mo. 
Cloth,  $1.50. 

"The  doings  of  'King'  Tom,  Albert,  and  the  happy-go-lucky  boy  Jim  on  the 
swamp  island,  are  as  entertaining  in  their  way  as  the  old  sagas  embodied  in  Scandi- 
navian story." — Philadelphia  Ledger. 


New  York :    D.  APPLETON   &  CO.,  72  Fifth  Avenue. 


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